


Honesty and Lies, Justice and Mercy

by Maeoreth



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Hunting, Major Spoilers, Revolutionary War, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, cross-dressing, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeoreth/pseuds/Maeoreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long ago, after Ziio told Haytham she could no longer be with him, he found another woman. An Assassin Spy, sent in to discover the numbers and strength of the Templar Order. When she was found out, she fled for her life, barely escaping with Haytham's next child blossoming in her womb. She gives birth; a little girl who grows up to become Jack Kenway or Jacqueline Dubois as her needs fit, an Assassin and Connor's half sister. Her story, unclear to even herself, unfolds as the Revolutionary War takes place around her. Her biggest question still remains: What is the real difference between the Templars and the Assassins?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lil' Frenchie

_1757._

The din of the bar below doesn’t disturb the patrons upstairs, who’ve become so accustomed to the noise that they hardly notice it anymore. Customers come and go below, not even aware of the plannings and scheming going on just ten feet above them. Why would they be? They couldn’t even begin to imagine the sort of men that are planning out the events that will shape everyone’s lives.

An elite squad of conspirators, ones aiming to gain access to a secret storehouse filled with supposed knowledge or jewels. What lays inside, they don’t know, all they know is that it’s important. Their leader, Haytham Kenway, doesn't mind as much anymore as he used to.

A leader. An inspiration. The soul and brains behind the force of six men. Slowly, he turns from where he’s been gazing out at the night sky, glancing over the five men as they sit around a table. A smile hides just behind his lips, watching with mild amusement as the six laugh and jeer, not knowing their commander is looking.

William Johnson. Thomas Hickey. Charles Lee. John Pitcairn. Benjamin Church. Fine men, each and every one of them… Well, maybe Hickey less so, but he’s loyal and that suits Haytham fine. Just as he’s about to turn to look back outside, the drunk realizes that his booze has run out, and he moves to get some more. Kenway shakes his head, allowing his smile to show, however faint.

“No, no, Thomas. I’ll get the next round.” A cheer comes from all the men, and he departs for the lower region of the tavern.

Buying the beer is no issue, in fact Cornelius and Catherine were kind enough to offer to bring the drinks up for him. As Haytham retreats to the privacy of upstairs, he notices something odd. He stills on the steps, and moves to the side in order to be kept in the shadows. He squints. There. With a snap only a snake could match, his arm shoots forward and grabs the first thing that doesn’t feel like wood, yanking it forward and onto the stairs. Satisfaction is the only expression registered as a young woman, not five years younger than himself, is pulled out of the shadows from behind a barrel to him. Without even a single word to her, he drags her upstairs to where the men are, throwing her at the table. Her foot catches on her dress and she lands on her hands and knees next to where Lee sits at the head of the table, dark brown hair falling to hide her face. All six men gasp and begin to stand, each reaching to help her, but a single gesture from Haytham stills them.

“Look what I found hiding behind a barrel,” is all he says at first, watching how their expressions change. “And what might your name be, my dear?” The girl swallows hard, biting her lower lip.

“R-Rosanna,” she murmurs, keeping her blue eyes trained on each man’s weapon, watching for one to be reached for, “Rosanna Dubois.” Hickey snorts in the corner.

“Got ourselves a lil’ Frenchie,” his grin is lecherous, “Whaddya suppose we oughta do with her?” Haytham raises a single hand, causing Hickey’s grin to fade and he to sit in his chair once more. Slowly, the Templar leader paces forward, the predator coming out.

“So, Miss Dubois, why is it you were listening in on our conversations this evening?” A soft growl comes from Lee, and Kenway shakes his head in his direction. Swallowing, Rosanna throws her hands up in surrender, flinching backwards.

“M-M-y father…” Careful as can be, she reaches down towards her skirts. Each man starts to draw their weapons and the predator laughs.

“Gentlemen! Do you really suppose one young woman poses six men a serious threat? Put your weapons away, don’t be so suspicious.” With a small nod of encouragement in her direction, Rosanna reaches a little quicker, finding a small item. Her eyes ask Haytham if he wants it, and he holds out his hand. When he feels the weight and shape of a ring being placed in his hand, his eyebrows raise. Incredulous, he raises a Templar ring to eye level, inspecting to ensure it’s real. “Where did you get this?” He breathes out.

“I told you,” her French accent is a little heavier now, “my father. He passed two years ago. I tracked down some men in England, who sent me here, said to look in Boston for Haytham Kenway.” His eyes flicker to Charles, who’s in just as much shock as he is, before lowering his gaze back to the cowering woman. “I overheard you talking today in the marketplace and followed you back here. The men in England told me to give you this if I ever found you, as well as this letter…” She reaches into her pocket again, producing a tri-folded parchment. Taking it, Haytham reads it aloud near the light of a candle.

_Haytham,  
Consider this a gift. I haven’t been snuck up on like that since I was a very young boy, nor had my words recited to me so effortlessly. She will be a great asset with a bit of training. _

_R. Birch_

Beneath was the Templar wax seal.

Rubbing one hand over his face, Haytham rereads the letter three or four more times, but to himself. Reginold was never one to write lengthy letters, but it’s more then enough for Haytham to get the gist. Before he turns to face the woman again, he lights the corner of the paper on fire in the candle, letting it drop to the floor.

“If you knew Reginold Birch the way I do, Miss Dubois, you would know that that was very high praise,” is all he can say for a moment. He lets his gaze wander down to the burning parchment at his feet. He waits, watching it reduce to nothing before putting out the last bit beneath his boot so the whole building doesn’t catch. Turning, he stares at her for a long, long moment. “Skills. List them.”

“Spy, thief-”

“Prove it.” Without another word, she produces Haytham’s purse from her skirt pocket. The men behind him burst into laughter. “... You are good. Very well. Charles!” He turns to look at the man who immediately comes to attention, “You are to train her. Our first acolyte in the Colonies. It is a high honor.” Charles grins immediately.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” Haytham smiles lightly again before turning back to the woman.

“You can stand up now.” She gets to her feet, dusting off her dress. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“Yes, a little tavern just up the road,” she murmurs, still shy, accent still heavy.

“Cancel the reservation, you will stay here, with us. Your brethren.”

_Thirteen years later._

“MOTHER!” Comes a loud call from down below, the sound of feet charging up the stairs as hard and as fast as they can. Barely a heartbeat passes before the door is slammed open and a young boy with tears in his deep blue eyes stands dressed in sailor’s clothes, brown bangs in his face with his hair tied back. “Mother, I-I’m so sorry, I came as fast as I could, I swear-”His mother shushes him softly.

“Jack, Jack, shhh, it’s okay, dear. I understand.” She coughs, a rough, mangled sound that leaves her with blood splattered across her chin. The boy grabs his own handkerchief and dabs away the blood, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Travel isn’t easy these days.” A softer cough this time that doesn’t lead into another fit, “How’s your uncle?” The boy smiles grimly.

“He’s fine. He… He didn’t want to come. He said to give you a hug if you were strong enough to receive one… But he still needs to care for the ship and-”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, dear. Don’t make excuses for him. Your uncle and I have been distant for many years.” The boy swallows hard.

“M-Momma…” She shakes her head, just barely able to raise a hand in order to wipe away the tears on her son’s cheeks. “Wh-what do I…?”

“The man who lives here will take care of you now, Jackie. You must listen to him and obey him like you would me, okay? He is your Mentor now.” A man slowly appears from the shadows as the woman mentions him, crippled and resting on his cane.

“Rosanna, you shouldn’t-”

“Achilles, don’t start with me now. Not when Jackie’s finally here.” Achilles sighs, nodding and retreating back into the shadows once more. Jack’s gaze returns to his mother’s face. “I love you, so much Jackie. You be a good girl now, y’here?” Jacqueline nods, a soft sob escaping. “Good. Now go play and let me rest a little while. Achilles will show you the mansion.” Jacqueline nods again, backing off.

“I love you, Momma.”

“I love you, too, honey.” Achilles rests a gentle hand on Rosanna’s shoulder, giving her a small smile as Jacqueline gives the two a moment alone. “You must swear to me-”

“As if she were my own, Rosanna. As if she were my own. She will be safe here. I promise.” Rosanna’s response is cut off by another coughing fit. When it settles, she is barely conscious. Achilles kisses her forehead. “Goodbye, Rosanna. Find the peace you’ve long sought.” The woman gives him a faint smile before laying back on the bed, closing her eyes and finally passing into the oblivion.

Achilles waits only another moment before hobbling out to the stairs where Jacqueline sits, crying to herself. He sits next to her, not touching her, but simply mourning in silence with her for a long time. When they finally do move, it’s so that they can find some food in the pantry to eat for dinner, as Jackie is weak from her long trip here. She doesn’t speak, except to ask which room she’ll sleep in that evening. Knowing better than to leave her alone like this, he instructs her to sleep on the floor in his room tonight. He’ll retrieve the body in the morning, but for now, he has an all but orphaned teenager to take care of.


	2. A Secret Door

_Two years later…_

The fourteen-year-old walks up the pathway from the river behind the mansion up to back door into the kitchen, carrying a pail of water. High cheekbones, sharp eyes with a straight nose, her black hair tied back into a red ribbon, and a gentle jawline to give her a touch of femininity. Even though she seems distracted by her task, there’s a sense of alertness surrounding her like a deer, but the readiness to jump headfirst into battle at a second’s notice like a cougar lies just beneath. These define her presence, both predator and prey. Her long clothing hide her lean but able body, a quiet strength that is easily underestimated by her foes. Her strength lies in her speed, able to run almost as fast as a horse (and faster than a few horses) or deal a thousand strikes in a single heartbeat. Or so they say.

She’s been gone for the last week, spending time at the property nearest them, owned by a man named Mr. Roswell. They ‘rented her out’, so to speak, he and his wife. She was barren, and they had little money for servants. When it got to be too much, Jackie would go and spend a week or two with them, cleaning their house in return for food and shelter. It wasn’t any different from living with Achilles, except perhaps that Mrs. Roswell was a little kinder. Mr. Roswell wasn’t at home this time, out the entire week. For some reason, this made his wife very, very nervous, though Jack couldn’t figure out why.

Walking up the familiar pathway in the late afternoon, Jacqueline takes a deep breath of the familiar place before finding her way inside. She puts on the pot for supper, which is ready just before nightfall. Achilles himself walks into the kitchen just as the venison stew finishes, and she lays out two bowls for both he and herself.

She considers asking if anything interesting happened while she was gone, but she knows better. Nothing interesting happens here. She’s so… so _bored_. Spending six years on a privateering vessel, you get used to action around every bend, always something to do. Now she does always have something to do. Something to clean, or mend, or something or another. She hates it here. But her mother’s dying wish was for her to live here, and live here she will, until she’s old enough to go find a husband and perhaps return to the sea. Where she belongs.

Achilles does something different tonight. Instead of sitting at the table like he usually does, he takes one of the chairs and sits it in front of one of the windows facing out towards the stables. The house is occasionally attacked, burglars mostly, and it’s Jackie’s job to defend the manor. One of the early signs of an attack is Achilles sitting at an unusual place, doing nothing but staring out with a determined expression, much like the one he wears now. She doesn’t know how he always knows, but he does, and he’s never wrong.

With a soft sigh, she finishes her supper, then drifts up the old stairs to her room - the room her mother had stayed in before she died - in order to prepare herself for the oncoming battle. The sky tells her it will rain tonight, which means that the fight will be just that much more _fun_ in the mud. Grumbling to herself, Jackie sheds the nice petticoat, gown and shoes that she wore to the Roswell home for her less-fashionable clothing. A white fencing shirt, brown knee breeches, heavy leather shoes with patterns, a belt to hold it all together, a heavy coat and a three-cornered hat. Essentially, it’s what she wore while serving on her uncle’s ship, but those memories are shoved aside for now.

Next, she retrieves her sword, testing it’s familiar weight out once more. A grimace taints her expression; the sword has dulled and needs to be sharpened. She puts it in the sheath for now; she’ll handle that once she’s finished. A flintlock pistol is put at her hip, a dagger hooked in just beneath the gun. Finding her wet stone at the bottom of her trunk with a red ribbon, beneath the various things she brought with her from the old days, she sits on the edge of her bed. Her black hair is tied up in the red ribbon behind her head as she sharpens her sword and listens attentively for when the moment to go outside will come.

An hour, maybe two later, and her sword is almost where she wants it to be when she hears the sound of Achilles standing very suddenly. Silent, she goes down the stairs as quickly as she can, which usually would earn some sort of remark from her caretaker, but he’s too busy being focused on what’s going on outside. She approaches from behind, watching over his shoulder. Her eyes widen. A young native boy is not just taking on, but almost easily defeating two grown men by their stables? The sword is sheathed as Jackie and Achilles watch in silence. When a tall, slim man approaches the boy from behind and knocks him unconscious, Achilles turns to her.

“Get a fire going, prepare two chairs by it, and wait until I tell you to approach. I will help our young friend.” Jack doesn’t ask questions; she’s not interested in a new bruise. She simply nods and goes to do as instructed.

Not ten minutes go by before the owner of the property has returned, but he’s alone. Jack raises a quiet eyebrow, but he shakes his head. No questions right now, that’s for later. She swallows a sigh. She hopes this boy survived because he maybe her only chance at getting some answers from the old man. Another ten minutes is how long it takes the boy to come inside. Jackie retreats to the shadows, watching from the darkness of one of the corners what progresses.

The boy takes the seat across from Achilles, but it immediately gives out from underneath him. In shock and embarrassment, he apologizes softly, but he’s waved off.

“Not your fault,” the old man replies, “This whole place is ready to come down. Goddamn miracle it hasn’t already. Anyway, who are you?”

“My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

“... _Right._ I’m not even going to try and pronounce that. Now tell me why you’re here.” The boy - Raton, Jackie decides to call him for now - fetches a map from his pouch.

“I was told to seek this symbol.” She can’t see it from where she sits near the door.

“Do you even know that symbol represents? Or what it is you’re asking for?”

“... No.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“The spirits said that I-”Achilles holds up a hand for Raton’s peace.

“These ‘spirits’ of yours have been harassing the Assassins for centuries. Ever since Ezio uncorked the bottle… Ah, but you don’t even know what an Assassin is, do you?” Raton shakes his head. Achilles turns in his seat and motions for Jackie to come forward. “This is Jack,” his voice rumbles, “and you two best get settled in.” Their eyes meet for the first time, and they both assess the danger present. Finding none, Raton gets chairs for both of them. “I’ve got a story to tell and it’s gonna take a while to get it all out…”

_Some time later…_

“... And so this is why the Assassins have dedicated themselves to the pursuit of the Templars. Because if they succeed - your spirit’s visions will become reality.” Raton stands in righteous anger.

“Then I will stop them!”

“Oh, I have no doubt you’ll try,” Achilles says with some amusement, and Jackie stands, the same anger blazing in her eyes as well. “Come on, I’ve something to show you two…” The three wander back towards the kitchen, Raton asking questions about the state of the house. Jack walks silently behind, curious as to where they’re going. In the two years she’s lived here, she hasn’t seen anything she’d think is at all relevant to what they’ve been discus-...

There’s a secret door.

Staring in shock, it takes a few seconds for her to get her bearings long enough to follow the two down the stairs to the basement she didn’t know about. She hasn’t noticed that Achilles can’t look her in the eye yet.

The basement is full of dust, mostly, a table on the left, some racks on the back wall, a dummy with robes on it that are unfamiliar to Jack in the center of the room, and a fairly well-lit side area with… paintings? On the wall behind some boards. She wanders towards the paintings, curious about what could be there, when she hears the dull slap of wood hitting flesh. It’s a sound she’s become very acquainted with.

“Don’t think you can just come in here, throw those on and call yourself an Assassin.”

“I-I did not… I would never presume…” A mood swing from the elderly man.

“It’s alright. I know they’ve a certain.. _allure_.” Achilles circles him once, glancing up and down Raton. “Very well. I’ll train you.” Jackie turns around, confusion mingled with pain on her face, and the old man smirks at her, “I’ll train you _both_. Then we’ll know if you’ve the right to wear those robes.”

“Thank you!... Uhm…” Raton’s flush starts to creep back in, making Jackie grin a little to herself.

“Name’s Achilles.” Is all the old man says before wandering her way. The expression is dashed as quick as it came. He gestures for the two to come near. “Come on, then, we’ve work to do.” He taps the lowest board with his cane and then gestures to the side. Jack helps Raton lift the boards, surprised that it’s all one piece instead of the boards actually nailed to the wall, but she realizes the wall is made of stone and the surprise vanishes. Her eyes land on the picture of Charles Lee.

_“That was the man, Miss. He said lots a’ nasty things. Terrible things. Said t’old bird had it comin’, he did. Time for her to die and stay out of his way.That there could be no more distractions. She had to die. It was for the good of all.”_

“What do the Templars want?” Raton’s soft question breaks her reverie, and she returns to the present.

“What they’ve always wanted: Control. They see an opportunity in the Colonies. A chance for new beginnings; unfettered by the chaos of the past. This is why they back the British. Here they have a chance to illustrate the merits of their beliefs: A people in service to the principles of order and structure.”

“I have seen what is to come if they succeed.” Jack can’t help but notice the ominous tone in his voice. It sends a shudder down her spine. “They have to die, don’t they? All of them, even my father.” Achilles swallows.

“Especially your father. He’s the one holding the whole thing together…” Slowly, he turns his gaze upon Jack. “This is why I told your mother I would care for you.” Blinking twice, she shifts to return his stare. “Tell me if you can read this name,” his cane is lifted and the end gently taps two words under the portrait at the very top. It takes her a moment to recognize the second word.

“... That is my name.”

“You and our friend here are half-siblings, Jacqueline Ezia Kenway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: finished.  
> Chapter 3-5: Written
> 
> Woot. This whole sequence was a pain in the ass to write, but it's up. I'm thinking about taking down my tags of Rape/Non-Con. It's not really relevant to the plot line at all, nor does it really help character development. I was going to have Jack raped by a redcoat officer, giving Haytham (in later chapters) a chance to 'prove himself' to her, but... I don't know. I don't want her to seem sue-ish (though, really, what qualifies as a 'sue' is really just a matter of perspective). What do you guys think?  
> -K


	3. Shakin' Like a Leaf

_Days turned to weeks, and still we trained. It felt good to have a sparring partner again. Achilles heavily approved, knowing we would learn ten times faster together then separate. He also challenged us to learn each other as well, so we would be an even deadlier team. I taught Connor how to fight with a sword, and he taught me how to use a bow. We learned to trust each other, more then we’d trusted anyone else before, with our lives and our secrets.When nightmares came, we’d share a bed, finding comfort in each other’s presence._  
 _We learned to fight together, to fall, run, climb, jump. Most of these I’d learned from my uncle, but I was badly out of practice. For every lesson in body, there were two for the mind. Language, propriety, philosophy, logic, the arts… Achilles taught us proper English, Raton taught me the language of his people, and I taught him French. Most often we learned of the Templars, the Assassins, their structures, origins and purpose. Years of training condensed into a matter of weeks. Between training, house keeping, food making, hunting, and the nightmares we both suffered, we rarely slept. Sometimes when sleep refused to come, we would stay up and talk. The stress got to us often. Raton and I became family._  
 _Raton told us of when Charles Lee and his followers burned down his village, of how it had led to the murder of his mother. Achilles explained that Lee and the others were Templars, and were led by none other than our father. I finally felt comfortable enough to truly open up about the murder of my mother, and how after, I’d spent nearly a year asking everyone in the town where she’d lived at the time what they had seen. Only one small boy gave me answers, and I was able to, from his recollections, draw a picture of Lee. Achilles confirmed this, saying that he and our father had been betrayed by my mother, who was an Assassin spy for two years. When they found where she’d lived, they broke into her home and poisoned nearly every food or drink, so she would die slow._  
 _If Raton and I were to serve the order, these men would become our targets. So we worked harder. Learned faster. But for all our progress, it was clear that we still had much to learn. Training had only just begun._

_1770._

When morning comes, Raton and Jack are surprised to find that Achilles is outside, sitting on the coach. The pair had been out hunting for game that morning, and having caught nothing, were coming back to tell the old man that they’d be having whatever was in the pantry. When they saw him, they quickly ran to his side.

“Good morning,” Achilles greets them as though it’s any other day.

“To you as well,” Raton replies, getting better at polite greetings.

“You taking a trip?” Jackie asks, a little bit more rough than her brother. Their father-figure grins a little to himself, before looking up at the manor.

“I’ve decided to do something about the house. And you’re going to help me. Get in.” He taps the carriage twice with his cane, and the two quickly climb into the back seat, Jack grinning from ear to ear in excitement. Raton’s never been to the city, and it’s been many years since Jackie’s been.

The trip is quieter and longer than she’d expected, but she figures she should’ve expected it. Raton’s rather reserved unless the two are alone and can speak in his native tongue freely, and Achilles never was much of one for conversation. When they arrive in Boston, she leans over to speak softly with Raton.

“Can you do something for me?” She murmurs, biting her lower lip in a manner identical to her mother. He only nods. “We’re already a strange bunch as it is, and I didn’t have time to change into a dress. I need you to refer to me as Jack, okay? As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m a boy named Jack Kenway.” He’s confused, but he nods all the same.

“Won’t someone recognize that last name?” He asks, and Achilles leans back to speak to them over his shoulder.

“No, it’s a fairly common English name. If anyone does, it’ll be shrugged off as coincidence. In fact, as far as anyone’s concerned, you two, Jack here is a slave owner, and I am his property.” Jacqueline blanches. “You,” he nods at Raton, “are his friend he met in the wilderness. Am I understood?” Both of them nod. “Good.” They come to a stop right after, and Raton holds open the door for her out of sheer habit. Achilles gives him a look, but says nothing. The two boys turn towards the crowd, and Achilles whacks Raton once, murmuring a reprimand for staring at a passing lady.

“Sorry,” he replies, looking at his feet. The old man shakes his head.

“Come on. Jack, you lead.” She swallows, but does as instructed, holding her chin high and pretending to know which way she’s going.

“This place is incredible! The people, the sounds and smells! I could walk these streets for days and not know not even half it’s wonders.”

“I thought the same as you upon a time. These days I much prefer the quiet of the countryside.” Jackie only smiles, listening to the conversation behind her. Achilles directs her steps with gentle taps to her ankles with his cane. 

"But there is so much _life_ here. So many opportunities."

"For a few, my boy. For a few..." An awkward silence passes as Achilles gets something from a pocket. "There's a store close to here. You're to buy the items on this list. Tell them where the carriage is - and they'll see that's it loaded. Understood?"

Both nod. "Yes."

"Good." He turns to Ratonhnhaké:ton, handing him a purse full of coins. "You're also going to need a new name. Your skin is fair enough that you might pass for one with Spanish or Italian blood. Better to be thought a Spaniard than a Native. And both are better still than I." Jack smiles grimly, while Ratonhnhaké:ton stands a little straighter. 

"That is not true." Achilles stands a little straighter as well, agitated. 

"What's _true_ and what _is_ aren't always the same." There's another pause, Jack staying out of this fight. Finally, the subject is changed. 

"What would you call me, then?"

"Connor. Yes. That will be your name. Alright then. Off you go." Jack gives Connor a grin and the two head off towards the store. She nudges his side, keeping an eye on the people that are in small groups, for both warmth and to whisper things amongst themselves.

"Guess I'm not the only one who has to use a fake name." Connor smirks in reply, shaking his head. 

"You take nothing seriously." 

"I do too! You know I do." He laughs. She grabs his shoulder and stops for a second, nodding towards a man shouting nearby. 

"I grow tired of this! It seems every day a new tax is levied-a new rule enforced-without our consent! The Revenue Act. The Indemnity Act. The Commissioners of Customs Act. Oh, Chancellor Townshend must have thought himself so clever when he papered these thefts and made them law. But the Constitution says we've a right to refuse! That there will be no taxation without representation! Tell me-who represented us in Parliament? Spoke on our behalf? Signed in our stead? Give me a name! Only you can't! And do you know why? You can't tell me who represented us because nobody did!"

Shaking her head, Jack leads Connor into the store. 

"You two lost?" The merchant asks, chuckling. Jack chuckles, shaking "his" head. 

"No, no. Connor, where's the list father gave us?"

"We need these items." Connor says once the list is provided. 

"Will you be paying with coin or trade?" The merchant seems mildly more irritated now. Connor places the purse on the counter. He suddenly seems happier to talk, and he looks over their list before handing some of the coins back.

"Some of these things I have. Some I don't. Lumber's hard to come by since my supplier up and vanished. I have the tools and pitch, though. Nails too. Where do you want this delivered?"

"The wagon near the state house." Jack supplies. 

The two then left the store, noticing several uproars in the area as they traversed the streets. “We should return to Achilles.” Connor whispers to Jack, who groans inwardly, but she nods anyway.

“Who stands in Parliament for Boston?” Someone shouts aloud as the two run past, “For New York? For Virginia? No one! But Old Sarum is represented. And Newport and Newtown. Seaford and Saltash. The list goes on. Rotten boroughs one and all.”

Jack and Connor find Achilles after passing groups of people either being pushed by redcoats into walls and buildings, or pushing the redcoats into walls and buildings.

“What happened?” They both ask, worried.

“That's what we're going to find out. Follow me.”

They come upon a large mob before a platform, with one man in a red uniform standing over them all, shouting instructions at the rioters. “I say again: disperse! Congregating in this manner is forbidden!” People start randomly shouting back at him, with jeers and cheers following their words.

“We're not going anywhere, bug!”

“Oi! Why don't you go back to England?!”

“No good can come of this chaos!” The man shouts back, “Return to your homes and all will be forgiven!” Jack’s eyebrows quietly raise as the guards keep the people back.

“Never!” Someone screams.

“Not until you've answered for your crimes!”

“You're right cowards, pointing guns at unarmed folk!”

“You don't scare us!”

“We ain't afraid!” An elbow ribs Jack, getting her attention.

“There!” Achilles says, touching Connor’s shoulder. His cane points through the crowd towards the front, where stands none other than Haytham Kenway, speaking with an associate.

“Is that our father...?” Connor asks softly, in a bit of shell shock.

“Yes,” the old man replies, “Which means trouble is sure to follow. I need you to tail his accomplice. This crowd is a powder keg - we can't allow him to light the fuse.”

“But-”

“But nothing! Do as I say and go!” Jack bites the inside of her lip, wanting to say something to Connor, but it’s too late. He’s disappeared into the crowd, following the suspicious man down an alley, past Haytham, and out of sight. “Keep an eye on Haytham, but _do. not. approach._ ”

Swallowing, Jack nods, moving to stand near some young men about her age to blend in with the crowd, but still giving herself an excellent view of where her father stands. It’s tense for a few minutes, giving her a little time to introspect. That was her father? The man she’d been wanting to meet her whole life, only to find out he’s a monster? … Or so she’d been lead to believe. Though her mother trusted Achilles, she’s not so sure how much she ought to herself. There’s a part of her that wants to break from the crowd and speak to him, but she knows better. Maybe… maybe she could… No, that would be suicide. The thought is thrust aside for now. She blinks a few times before focusing on his face. The cheekbones, the eyes, the hair. They matched her own. In fact, she’s almost certain that if they stood together, you couldn’t mistake that they’re closely related. Pain runs through her stomach. That was the man her mother loved once.

Suddenly, a shot fired, causing panic amongst the Redcoats. Someone starts shouting orders, and more gunshots follow, the men commanded to eliminate the rioters.

Redcoats start shooting the civilians, and Jack dodges underneath an abandoned cart, her deep blue coat rustling as she shifts around. She watches from beneath as Haytham sends some of them after Connor. Connor runs from where he stands on the rooftop and out of sight once more. Jack desperately wants to follow, to help, but she knows that’ll just get her in trouble, too. Achilles and Connor would kill her for that. Instead, she repositions herself and watches Haytham closely, waiting for him to make his next move.

He stays until tensions have died down, before disappearing around a nearby corner with two people at his side that she doesn’t get a good look at. Deciding to chance it, she dashes out from underneath her cart, switching between running and cooly standing still, blending in easily with what little crowd hasn’t gone home yet. The three men’s confidence in themselves and the triumph in their steps blinds them to Jack’s presence, allowing her to flit close behind without once being noticed. Only when they turn a corner does she even have to bother dodging behind something to hide.

When they finally do stop, it’s at a tavern. The Green Dragon Tavern. Jack memorizes the name for future reference. She watches in through the window, careful to position herself so only her eyes could be seen, as the three men order whiskey before retreating upstairs. Bounding off the objects below and then climbing up the side paneling of the building and the windows, she reaches a window that gives her a good view of the men. She’s fortunate they’ve left it cracked so she can hear the conversation as well.

“Well, men, aside from one small hiccup today, we were victorious!”

There’s a cry of cheers all around, making Jack swallow hard. Several voices came from the room. If she’s caught, she won’t be getting out alive. She listens for the rest of the conversation, waiting to catch names, but all of them are familiar to her. Johnson, Hickey, Lee, Kenway, Pitcairn, Church, and Biddle. If only she had a cannon handy, she could rid the world of them forever with one go.

She bites her lip to keep the laugh in at that thought, not realizing that the conversation has gone deadly still. Without warning, the window is pulled open and an arm grabs her own, yanking her inside. Jack tries to scream, but a hand is over her mouth in an instant. Her natural reaction: bite. Hard. A man yelps in pain, releasing her, and she kicks free of the other man’s hold, backing herself into the corner of the room nearest the window she just came in from, her sword drawn and ready. She can feel the blood drain from her face as she recognizes each man in the room with her. They’re all _very_ tall… and big… Not good.

“And just who might you be, lass?” Comes the growling voice of John Pitcairn, who, with the others, is drawing his sword. She clears her throat thickly.

“That depends o-on who yo-” her voice cracks and she clears it again, “you ask.” A few chuckles are heard. With a fast glance, she realizes her sword is shaking.

“Except, my dear girl, we’re asking _you_.” Why is her sword shaking?

“Or do you not have a name?” Oh. Her hands are shaking. That’s why. But why are her hands shaking?

“I-I have a name!” Sweat drips down her face and she knows why. For the first time in two or three years, she feels _fear_.

“Look at ‘er, shakin’ like a leaf, the poor girl. Can’ be a day ol’er than thirteen.” Hickey adds with a snicker. 

“Enough with the suspense,” she looks up to realize it’s Charles Lee himself who’s addressed her, “out with it!”

“Except that is currently what’s keeping me alive, so why should I give it up?” Haytham grins, a predatory grin that Connor has described as matching the one she herself wears on occasion, chuckling.

“Except, with or without the name, we’re going to kill you anyway.”

“... You have a point.” She bites her lower lip. “J-Jacqueline. Jacqueline Dubois.”

She’s never seen a group of men freeze so fast at just the sound of one word.

“Say that name… one more time, please.” Kenway barely manages to get out.

“We-well, it’s uhm, it’s _kind of_ my name. M-My real name is Jacqueline Ezia Kenway, but my mother’s name was Dubois, so that’s the one I took.” There’s a tense moment where no one really knows what to do or say, everyone staring at Haytham, who looks nothing short of shell shocked. Sensing an opportunity, Jack makes for the window, Pitcairn and Johnson missing her coattails by centimeters.

She hits a tree trunk, then snow, then pavement. Her feet take over, making her run long and hard into the night. She doesn’t dare think. She doesn’t dare look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooo. Now they know she exists. Things will get very interesting now, and we'll find out more about Jackie's past in the next chapter..  
> -K


	4. Living Proof

_The next day…_

Horse’s hooves sound out on the path leading up to the manor, the horse and rider both weary and worn, but no worse for the wear. Achilles slowly comes out and helps Jacqueline off the horse, not even bothering to question where it came from. She can hardly stand, she’s so weak, but still she mumbles apologies. He shakes his head, shushing her softly and telling her to go inside and wait for him. He waits until she’s gone before taking the new horse around to the stables, to be returned the next opportunity they get, if at all. When he comes back inside, she’s slumped over the dining room table, almost asleep already. He prods her side with his cane.

“What happened?”

“I-I-”

“Did you chase your father?” Silence. “Did he discover you?” More silence. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she whispers, hanging her head low so her black hair hides her face. “I’m sorry, Achilles.” A conversation plays out in her mind. Achilles knows that she followed Haytham, finds out about their meeting, and accuses her of leading them back here. Not intentionally, of course, but who wouldn’t stand to reason that they would follow her? _No. Nononono._ “I-I lost them. Too many corners, too fast. They got away.” The old man holds up a hand.

“It’s alright, child. When I’d realized that both you and your father were gone, I knew what you’d done, and only prayed you’d come back to me alive. I am only grateful that you have. But don’t try to be your mother and do that again.” Jack looks confused.

“What do you mean, ‘be my mother’?” Achilles’ expression turns to one of grim amusement.

“I think it’s time you learned the truth about your mother.” Standing, he beckons her to follow. He leads her back into his bedroom and has her sit at the small table where they usually play logic games, but right now the pieces are cleared off. He goes to a drawer and pulls out a small, black leather bound book. Approaching her once more, he lays it on the table in front of her, nodding to himself. “My French is not what it once was, so I suppose you'll have better luck with it. Your mother gave this to me for safekeeping, asked I not read it, but save it for you. When the time was right. I believe that’s now.”

“Wh-”she starts, reaching for the book and pulling it closer, “What is it?”

“Your mother’s journal. She kept it for many years. Up until the day before she died. As I said, it’s yours now. I hope it has a few answers for you.” Quiet, Jackie nods, standing with the book in hand. It’s a few minutes before she can speak again.

“Where’s, uhm, where’s Connor?” Achilles chuckles.

“Your brother has not yet returned. I’ll call you down when he arrives. Go get some rest. You look as though you got in a fight with the devil.”

Jack gives Achilles a grim smile before nodding, heading up the stairs in spite of the pain shooting through her legs. Her body isn’t used to riding for that long at once, and her thighs feel ready to split open any second. When she makes it to her room, she strips down and pulls a nightgown over her head, collapsing into her bed a few minutes after. The book is barely shut away in the drawer next to her bed before she manages to pass out.

_Later that day…_

Jack is startled awake by the sudden movement of her entire bed, something collapsing into it right next to her. Grabbing the knife beneath her pillow, she rolls over onto it, ready to stab it in the throat when her wrist is stopped by a hand. Smirking up at her is none other than Connor. She rolls her eyes before rolling back over, putting the dagger away.

“About time.”

“Heard you were out all night, too.”

“Yeah, so?”

“How’d you get hurt if you didn’t spar against father? And why steal a horse if you’re not running from someone?”

“I didn’t spar against father,” at least that was true, “I was trying to grab a little bit of food for an orphaned boy when a redcoat saw me. I stole someone’s horse on my way out, since I was at the edge of Boston anyway. I got hurt by going through some trees and bushes in the forest and the branches cutting me up.” Connor buys it. For now. “What happened to you?” Biting his lip, he sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

“Lots of things. Father sent guards my way, so I ran and hid in the harbor water-”

“Cold?”

“Very. When I got back on land, a man was waiting for me. Sam Adams. He was nice enough. Taught me to take down posters they’d put up around town of my face so the guards wouldn’t recognize me, then he payed off a speaker in the streets-”

“You mean a town crier?”

“Yes. He gave one some money and the man started telling people that the man who started the massacre, who they thought was me, was wearing a disguise. Brown makeup and a wig. The real criminal was a middle aged white man who was seen running away.” She shifts a little against the bed, frowning. “It didn’t sit very well with me, either. Then we went to a printer and paid him to start printing something other than the stuff about me. He said that if I don’t learn to do these things, I’ll end up dead.” Jack sighs.

“He’s right.” Connor sits straight up, looking at her with a mixed expression of two parts confusion and one part hurt. “I’m not joking this time. If people believed every accused criminal when they said it wasn’t them that did it, we wouldn’t need prisons. People will sooner believe something they’ve read from a so-called reliable, reputable source than from a neighbor who means well. It’s sad, but it’s the world we live in.” With a heavy sigh, Connor lays back down on the bed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You have a point.” She gives him a soft smile, looking over at him.

“I’m glad that you at least try to be honest. It’s one of your greatest strengths.” There’s a small pause as he returns the smile. “So what happened after?”

“After that, I came back here. Achilles gave me these,” he holds up his arms, revealing the hidden blades already strapped down. Jackie gasps and sits upright, grinning widely as she looks over the pair. “He told me to tell you that he’ll be getting a pair for you as well as soon as he is able… Buuuuttt…” She raises an eyebrow at him, curious, before watching as he undoes the straps and hands one over to her. “You can have this one until yours arrive.” Her jaw drops.

“Really? Thank you, Connor!” She bridges the gap between them, hugging him tightly, making him laugh as he hugs her back just as tight. When they pull apart, it’s quiet for a minute, then Connor really surprises her by brushing his lips against her temple.

“I have to go, sister. After Achilles gave me the blades, a man named Godfrey appeared at a window and asked me to save his friend, Terry, who’d fallen into the river and was liable to drown. They’re setting up a lumber mill here, on the Homestead, and the old man asked me to go down to the harbor when I had some free time after telling me about what happened with you, saying there was something I needed to see. An ‘asset’.” Jackie grabs his arm before he can leave the bed.

“Well, why don’t I just come with you?”

“Aren’t you still tired?”

“I should stretch my legs a little.” He rolls his eyes.

“Your curiosity is going to get you killed one day.” She laughs, grinning.

“I know.” Standing, she flinches as pain shoots up her legs again, but it’s not as bad as before. She waits for feeling to return to her toes before running to catch up with Connor, who’s already walked out.

The two race to the harbor, Connor only winning because Jack’s legs are still sore. He gives a victory cry as he lands on the ground, about ten feet from where Achilles stands, waiting for them. He’s still celebrating, even as Jackie leaps from her tree, down to a rock, and then comes to stand next to him. She punches his shoulder. Achilles rolls his eyes at both of them. Without a word, the three make their way towards a small shack, a man who calls himself ‘Peg Leg’ ranting and raving something about Captain Kidd, but Jack tunes him out completely. She’d heard it all before and had no interest in hearing it again. As they approach the door, a man from instead practically screams at Connor.

 _“GO ‘WAY!”_ Connor enters first, with Achilles right behind him, and Jackie lingering by the door. “Said ‘go way’, boy. D’ya not speak the King’s English?” He continues to ramble, until his eyes finally rest on Achilles. “Oh! I didn’t see you there, old man. I’d of set my home in order if I’d known you’d be callin’.” Davenport doesn’t seem to care about the mess.

“The boy’s name is Connor, and this one’s Jack,” he nods towards the one behind him, “they’re here to restore the property.”

“Restore?… _RESTORE!_ Pardon my manners!” The four start to head out, the man staring at the ship in the harbor with great pride, “She’s still the fastest in the Atlantic - sure she needs some attention, minor things mostly, but with a little affection she’ll fly again.”

“I should hope so, Mr. Faulkner, or else Monsieur Dubois will be most displeased,” comes a voice from behind, the French accent laid in thick. Stopping dead in his tracks, Mr. Faulkner spins right around, shock written into every inch of his expression.

“Who said that?”

“I did.” Jack looks up from underneath the brim of her hat, grinning, and still using her native French accent. “I’m insulted, sir, that you don’t remember Jack Kenway, Monsieur Dubois’ nephew and cabin boy.” Mr. Faulkner’s jaw drops before he grins widely, taking the ‘boy’ up in his arms and giving him a tight hug.

“Jack! It’s been _years_!” He sets ‘him’ down, clapping him hard on the shoulder and beaming like a proud parent, “An’ look at how big y’ve gotten! You’re a right man, now!” Jack laughs, shaking ‘his’ head.

“I’ve got one more surprise for you, Mr. Faulkner. Prepare your heart so it does not stop on account of me.”

“More then ready, Mr. Kenway.”

“Monsieur Dubois’ sister did not give birth to a son,” suddenly the voice’s pitch changes into a more natural-sounding feminine one and the accent is dropped, “but a daughter.” His face goes white and he looks nearly ready to faint.

“A-A-A girl!? On a _pirate ship_?” She grins widely, nodding.

“Aye. The old superstition about women being bad luck on a ship? Not at all true. This girl’s living proof of it, my uncle was more successful with me on the ship then he ever has been.”

“Well, when it got out that Captain Dubois had a cabin boy and nephew with a sword fast as lightning-”she waves him off, grinning and rolling her eyes.

“I wasn’t that fast. Anyway, he agreed to have me because my mother couldn’t care for me anymore. People were asking too many questions and my father is not a good man. She didn’t want him finding me, not like that. So, what better place for me to go then somewhere he could never find me?”

“So she sent you away onto your uncle’s pirate ship.” He laughs, shaking his head, “You lot always were an unusual bunch, so I guess I ought not to be too surprised.” Achilles clears his throat and the two turn their attention back to him and Connor. “Oh, sorry sir, forgot me manners.”

“Who is ‘she’?” Connor asks like he’s been waiting an eternity to do so, and it’s all Jackie can do from not collapsing into a fit of laughter.

“WHO is SHE? Why, the Aquilia, boy! The Ghost of the North Seas!”

“The boat?” He asks, now even more confused, and only serving to further offend poor Mr. Faulkner.

“B-b-the _BOAT?!_ She’s a ship, boy, and make no mistake about it!” He turns, now, to Achilles, “I thought you brought him here to restore order? Jack’ll have this place shipshape in no time if he-I mean, she’s anything like ‘er uncle, but I reckon this one’s the greenest thing on the frontier!” Achilles just chuckles.

“Jack, Connor, meet me back at the manor when you’re finished here.” The two only nod as their mentor leaves.

“You said it requires repairs… You able?” Connor asks, trying to take charge but still a little in over his head.

“ _She_ , Connor,” Jackie quickly and gently corrects, “ships are called ‘she’.” Faulkner nods.

“For your question, yes, I can refit her but I’m lacking in the proper supplies. Some… Some quality timber would help me get started.”

“I can see to that. How long before it-SHE is able to sail again?”

“Just get me the timber, boy, and I’ll raise a crew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be describing one of the racing scenes soon, promise. It's not as relevant right now, so I've been kind of avoiding it in favor of simply getting through the chapters. I have the next three written already. The next one is shorter, but the one following is extra long to make up for it. ;)  
> -K
> 
> Post-Post Script: I FUCKING LOVE WRITING ROBERT FAULKNER.


	5. Journal Entry #1: June 17th, 1757

_June 17th, 1757_

_The Templars have welcomed me into their home. A few have yet to trust me totally, but having Birch's recommendation went a long way to improving my situation. While lying is typically easy for me, I am reminded often of my father's teaching. "Lies are sometimes necessary, Rosanna. Lie for a day, but be honest all year."_

_The men I now have to help are a breed all their own. Haytham Kenway, the leader. A tall, bright man only a little older than myself. Black hair and grey eyes. I catch myself wanting to run my fingers through that hair and stare into those eyes. His wit has no match, and his air is of ownership. When he looks at you, it's like he owns the ground you stand on, the air you breathe, and the blood in your veins. His intensity, born out of complete security in himself and his capabilities, makes you feel like he stares into your soul and exposes all truth, no matter how black or ugly. It is difficult to remain composed when near him, but I have kept myself so far and I will continue in this same manner._

_Charles Lee. Kenway's lapdog, personal assistant, and hope for tomorrow. He sees in Lee the leadership qualities needed to run the colonies. I'm not sure how much I agree, but we will discover the truth with time. He's a sweet man; nothing short of utterly adorable. To watch him kill a man is almost strange; the opposite of the kind of man he is when near me or the others. His height is not as great as Kenway's, but he is still formidable. He wears a moustache that he thinks makes him look older, but truly, it makes him younger. His face is rounder than Haytham's, softer, almost childish, but it adds to his charm. He has a lovely smile._

_Thomas Hickey is curious, and definitely the odd one out. It's very apparent he's only here because it pays well, but he's very loyal. Even when times are tough, he sticks around, knowing things will pick up again soon. I fear what might happen if a better offer comes along. He would have a similar charm to Charles if he played it up more, being the youngest by years and still having his more boyish features. But he's very... lecherous. He's also good for information in the darker corners of society. It's apparent why he's kept around, in spite of his being the least gentlemanly present._

_William Johnson I'm torn about. He has this... I don't even know how to describe it. He's very calming and wise. If it wasn't necessary for him to be kept deceived as well, I would go to him often for advice or simply for debate. He pulls me aside often, asking to make sure that all is well, and says he knows that I seem to wish to speak to him about something, but am too afraid to try. I never know what to say, but he tells me he's willing to listen when I'm ready. He's very fatherly. I love him, in my own way, already. It's only been months but he's so trusting. I feel guilty upon leaving his presence, knowing he can never know the truth._

_Benjamin Church is someone I'm also torn about, but in a different sense. A surgeon, he has the calm.serenity about him as Johnson does, but there's a slight edge to it. I'm not so sure even the Templars should trust him. He's loyal, yes, and useful, but he seems to be utterly infatuated with the British crown. I cannot say for certain if, forced to choose, he would remain loyal to the Templar cause and instead serve the Loyalists. It's why I believe he's still here now._

_The biggest surprise has been John Pitcairn. He has a sense of humor I simply cannot get enough of. He has, almost too easily, slipped into the roll of becoming a dear friend. I wish I could tell him the truth; change his mind and make him an Assassin. He is already so dear to me. He's even decided to take the time to teach me sword play. I revealed to him I already knew how to use a dagger, and he barely won when we sparred. Training with John is thrilling, and I wish I could reveal more, but I must take care that I do not give away too much._

_Today in the mail, a letter from Reginald Birch came, confirming that I wasn't some spy. This elated Kenway, and I've been officially welcomed into the Templar fold._


	6. Such Occasions

_1770 - Six months later._

 

_Time passed quickly after that – the days a blur of study, training, and work. What little free time Achilles allowed was spent learning about the Templars. About Charles Lee and our father. Connor longed to confront them; to put an end to their schemes and to ensure his people would remain untroubled and free. But I knew it was too soon. That to approach them now would see him killed. All our work would be for nothing. I reminded him of this daily, but I never told him why. I never spoke of that night in Boston again, and when it was brought up, I changed the subject. Patience and restraint proved the most difficult subjects for Connor._   
_During fleeting moments I would read my mother's journal, and while some answers were provided, many new questions arose. I wanted to know more, and know why they killed her. Patience and restraint became difficult for me as well, wanting badly to find that inn again and confront them about what I'd read in her book.  
Soon, we mastered our impatience as well. Days became months. Months became years. And as our skill and knowledge grew – so too did we._

 

_It was almost my birthday._

 

“Come aboard and feast your eyes, boys!” Faulkner calls, the crew having arrived and it agreed all around that Jack is to be known by her masculine name, which suits Faulkner just fine. Connor and Jack approach from the dock, the former more skeptical while the latter is practically giddy. Just as Connor’s about to step on, both Jack and Faulkner stop him. “No! No no no no, not the left foot!” Connor stops mid-step, staring at both of them in disbelief. “Never the left foot,” Jack nods, “Horrible luck. Step with your right foot, first.” Connor humors them, stepping up onto the ship with Jack right behind.

 

“She is… solid?” Connor almost asks, hoping that’s the right compliment.

 

“Aye, weatherly and sleek. She’ll fetch 12 knots in a stiff gale, ne’er a ship from here to Singapore that can outrun her on her best day.” Jack grins widely. “Wha’dya say we take her out and show you two what she can do first hand?”

 

“Yes!” Jack cries, already excited.

 

“Where would we go?” Asks the more reserved Connor.

 

“As it happens she still needs guns and the officers to command them. We'll launch straight away. Don't worry, lad, I'll make sure you sprout good sea legs.”

 

“Aye, Connor, I’ll help you, too.”

 

“Haul in the mainsail! Get up the rigging! Hand over fist! Come on, men!! Let's get her out where she needs to be!”

 

Later that day, Connor comes up from the hold to see if they’d gotten out far enough yet for Faulkner. Jack has already climbed up into the Crow’s Nest, and is examining the entire east coast from where she stands above. When she hears a loud cry of her name, she looks down to see Faulkner waving at her, and she grins and waves back. He beckons for her to come down, and she nods, climbing back down the robes as though she’d never gotten out of practice. She smiles at Connor and moves to join him and Mr. Faulkner at the wheel. The older man grins, stepping back.

 

“It’s time y’learned, boy. Come on, then, she won’t bite!” He says as Connor steps up almost timidly, taking the helm just as the first mate had held it. “You're connected to her now – Listen and feel. She's idle. If you call for half sail, the men'll hop to it and she'll pickup”

 

“Half-sail!” The younger man says, which Jack is quick to reiterate much louder in order to ensure the order is heard. She grins at her brother and Mr. Faulkner.

 

“I think you two can handle this, I’m going back up to keep an eye out. Don’t need anyone sneakin’ up on us.” The two nod and she disappears back up the ropes again, helping with rigging here and there, but mostly doing as she said: keeping an eye out. Her deep blue coat blows back behind her like a sail itself, her loose attire (the same old fencing shirt and breeches) allows for the wind to shift through it and against her skin like when she lived on the open water. A song picks up at one point, and she can’t help but laugh to herself, shaking her head. It’s good to be home.

 

By the end of the week, they’ve harbored at their destination: Martha’s Vineyard. The town is small, designed only to service ships passing through, destined to die if the shipping routes change even an inch. It had its charms, sure, but none that they’re interested in today. Jack only distantly remembers this town, having been here once in her early days with her uncle, but she hasn’t been back since.

 

They enter a small tavern, unremarkable in nature, and Jack gives Connor a look. ‘I bet he’s here to get some rum’, her expression tells him, and he just smirks in reply. Her thought is supported when Faulkner turns to the barmaid.

 

“Oh, hullo, Miss Mandy. You're looking every bit as ravishing as I remember.” Jack rolls her eyes.

 

“After all these years you sail all the way to the Vineyard to pay me compliments?”

 

“We're looking for David and Richard Clutterbuck.” She ‘hmph’s at him before nodding towards a corner.

 

“Nice to see you, too.”

 

As they approach, the two men, each scarred badly and looking like nothing but absolute trouble, recognize Faulkner immediately. They look like trouble, but the way Robert’s acting, they’re the exact kind of trouble they need. Grinning to herself, Jack stays close, not noticing her brother has turned and wandered away until something’s said about him. Her eyes widen and she quickly turns, a hand instinctively reaching for a concealed dagger at her side as a little of her black hair falls out of her hat and into her eyes.

 

“Where is Charles Lee?”

 

Jack’s face goes pale and she immediately turns around again, praying to whoever might be listening that she’s not noticed. That’s Benjamin Church and Nicholas Biddle he’s talking to, two of the Templars they’re hunting and two of the Templars that were there when she was discovered by Haytham, her father. If they recognize her, there’s a guaranteed fight on their hands, likely ending with Faulkner and Connor injured or worse, and she being dragged off to speak to the Grandmaster. She can’t risk this. _Get out. I need to get out. I need air._

 

“I don’t much care for your tone, boy.”

 

Jack hears the scrape of wood, meaning someone’s stood up. Her eyes close harder, fear flooding her system again, a flash of that night over six months ago darting through her mind. It’s all she can do to control her breathing. She’s twelve, Connor’s fourteen, and Faulkner hasn’t handled a sword in likely over a decade, if not longer. _I need to get out. I can’t breathe. It’s too tight in here. There’s no air. I need air._

 

“Hey, you don’t want to be doin’ that, Biddle.”

 

“Bobby Faulkner turned to wet-nursing? Good you finally realized you’re a shite sailor.” The saving grace of Mandy’s voice is what allows Jack’s windpipe to open up a little bit again. 

 

“Woah, woah, woah! Not in here, gentlemen! Better still, not at all! Bobby, take your friends and get out!” _Air. Need. Air._

 

“Let’s go, boys, our guns ought to be ready.” There’s a sharp whistle in the air. “Jack! Come on!”

 

Without even a single thought, Jack goes into full speed, taking out of the bar so fast she’s nothing but a blur to the tall men and nearly knocking two or three people down on her way out. She doesn’t stop once she gets outside, but instead keeps running. She runs all the way out to the more wooded area nearby, before finally collapsing by a large boulder, panting hard. Her stomach churns, and without warning, she rolls away from the town and gives up what she’d had for breakfast that morning. Coughing and sputtering, she’s only vaguely aware of the soft sounds of footsteps, but she hears them crouch down next to her.

 

“Are you okay?” Sniffing, she nods before turning to look at her brother.

 

“Ye-yeah, Connor, I’m fine. I’m sorry. That tavern… it was just too…” He shakes his head, telling her not to say anymore. “I’m sorry. I thought I was better but… sometimes it just comes back and I can’t control it.”

 

“I know, sister. Come on, let’s get you back out on the water. It will do you good.” Smiling gratefully, she lets him help her stand. Once she’s cleaned her face a little bit, she challenges him to a race, and the two dart back to the ship. When they arrive, Faulkner stands on the bow with his arms crossed. He shoves Connor.

 

“What the bloody hell was that about?”

 

“The older man is a Templar. Who was he with?”

 

“A Templar? The young buck was Nicholas Biddle. Nobody. Sails before the mast - midshipman for the Crown.” Robert glances at Jack and sees her constitution returning. “What about you? Ain’t seen anyone move that fast. Hell, I’ve not seen many rabbits move that fast.” Connor cuts in before she can answer.

 

“He has a hard time with small spaces and lots of people.”

 

“I can ignore it most of the time,” she interjects softly, “but after being out on the ship today for the first time in forever, it was too much. I’m sorry, Faulkner, I should have told you sooner.” He grunts, but he accepts the answer.

 

“Aye, you should’ve. Will this be a problem again?” She shakes her head dutifully. “Then all is well.”

 

“Are the guns ready?” Connor asks to get the conversation off the touchy subject as the two head up towards the helm to get things moving again. Taking a deep breath, Jack tunes out their conversation and pulls herself deftly up the mast and into the crow’s nest once more. There, she’s able to clear her mind for now of what happened and how close she came to dealing with her father again.

 

The ship is taken out, and they practice using the guns on some ships that have run aground. Connor is already proving to be an excellent captain, handling the ship with a natural ease. Of course, having Robert there to help guide him isn’t hurting things any. As they’re about to head out, Jack sees something just on the other side of a large wave, and she turns to shout below.

 

“WE GOT COMPANY, BOYS! ENGLISH FLAGS, HARD TO STARBOARD!” Then they can hear the cannons fire, the shots hitting the water. Connor commands the ship with his usual cool demeanor, having the swivels hit the two smaller ships while the frigate takes a single volley to its starboard side. Just as she hears the explosions, Jack sees another pair headed their way. “ENGLISH FRIGATE!” She calls down, hearing the report reiterated three or four times until it finally reaches Connor’s ears. That’s also right about when the rain starts. Three solid rounds to the stern, the port side, and the stem is all it takes before loud explosions are heard, and the enemy ship goes up in flames.

 

It takes another week and a half for them to get home, most of which Jack spends in the crow’s nest to be alone. She’d been so happy about this trip, so _excited_. But she can barely stand the thought of food with how upset her stomach is, how terrified she is that Church recognized her, and that Haytham Kenway and Charles Lee will be standing at the dock, waiting for her. She doesn’t want to die. She’s only twelve.

 

When they sail into port, no Templar is there waiting for them, but an old man, hunched over with one eye opened wider than the other. He rambles constantly about something, but Jack can’t hear it from where she climbs down the ropes, but she can overhear Connor and Faulkner discussing him.

 

“Who is that man?”

 

“Him? Some ol' salt always going on about letters he's got from Captain Kidd. Nonsense, really, but he don't hurt no one, so I leave him be. Talk to him if you fancy, but be warned – he'll chew your ear off.” There’s a brief pause as Jack walks up, making her presence known, and she gets a quick grin from Faulkner. “Anyway, the Aquila's here for you, should you get a pang for the open sea. Now I implore you to head up the hill 'fore the Old Man comes out of retirement just for me.” Jack laughs and Connor only nods, the two stepping off the ship and heading up the hill together.

 

“I’m curious to see what the ‘ol’ salt’ has to say,” Jackie says, her voice finally able to return to it’s natural, higher pitch, cutting off any questions Connor might want to ask her about her ‘episode’. He nods a little, though a bit more indecisively.

 

“Is he worth our time, though?”

 

“Probably not - but old salts like that one usually have a few nuggets of good wisdom left in them that are worth hearing.”

 

“You speak as though from experience. How long were you a sailor before I met you?”

 

“Six years. Mom sent me away at six, saying people were ‘asking too many questions’ about me, and that I needed to be safe. My uncle came and fetched me off the dock. Introduced me to the crew as Jack Kenway, his nephew and cabin boy. Didn’t say a word to me for an entire week after that.”

 

“Faulkner recognized your uncle’s name. Why?”

 

“My uncle is a notorious pirate, wanted by at least four different countries, not including this blossoming one we live in. Whenever the ship got into a fight with another, my job was to stay up in the crow’s nest until things settled down. Turned out, I had the sharpest eyes out of anyone there; could spot another enemy ship approaching from a little less than a mile. When I was eight, two men from Japan, brothers, came aboard and joined the crew. They were excellent swordsmen, and convinced my uncle to let them teach me. That was when the rumors started getting out about Captain Dubois’ cabin boy. I was small and fast, could wield a dagger like no other.”

 

“So what happened?”

 

“We got a letter from Achilles about my mother when I was ten. Mother was dying; said she’d gotten deathly ill and was begging to see me. I saw her only moments before she passed, and she made me promise to be good for Achilles, and Achilles to be my guardian.”

 

“Who was it that made you afraid of small spaces? Your mother, uncle, or Achilles?”

 

“My uncle. He didn’t give me any special treatment on account of being his ‘nephew’, but on account of still being quite small. When the other men acted out, they were whipped by a very large, burly black man named Samson. When I got into trouble, though rarely was it because of things that I actually did, my uncle locked me inside of a very small closet in his cabin. I stayed there and had to be absolutely silent until he decided I could come out again.”

 

“Do you still use the technique I taught you? About controlling your breathing?” Jackie smiles to herself as they approach the house, nodding.

 

“Yes. When I can. Sometimes, it’s too sudden and I don’t have time, but when I do, I keep control.” Connor nods. “How did you know that would work?”

 

“I watched you the first time you panicked. The first thing you did was you stopped breathing normally, so I figured that must be what causes the other problems. I was right.” She grins, punching his shoulder lightly, making him smile before he pushes the door open to see if Achilles is there.

 

“Three weeks!” Comes the stern voice almost immediately, making both apprentices flinch. “And not even so much as a goodbye.”

 

“Sorry…” Both murmur, abashed, but he’s already turned, walking down the hall towards the secret door.

 

“Well? What are you waiting for?” He asks over his shoulder, and the two quickly move to join him. The three descend into the basement, and Achilles stops near the rack with the blue and white robes standing the in the center of the room. Connor, as always, walks right up to them, touching the collar. “Put them on.”

 

As Connor goes back upstairs to change in private, Jack’s hands turns into fists at her sides. Both to help give her focus and maintain her breathing - this small, damp space making her want to make a break for freedom - and because she’s hurt that Connor’s going to be accepted into the Brotherhood first, or worse, alone.

 

“I didn’t forget you, Jackie.” Her eyes open again, and she sees that Achilles is smirking at her. “It just took me a while to dig those up again.” He points with his cane at the rack on the back wall, and she looks up to see a single uniform sitting in the center, one she’d never noticed before. “A whole year to find them, then four months to find someone willing to clean them good and proper, then tailor them to your size without asking too many questions. You have ten minutes to change.”

 

Jackie can only nod, too shocked to speak. Only when she hears his soft footfalls on the wood above her head does she move, stepping closer to inspect the outfit. They’re similar in style to the ones just given to Connor. Instead of white and blue with a white shirt, they’re white and red with a deep blue shirt. It was also obvious that these were meant for a swordsman, the way they were looser, made for freeflowing movement, where Connor’s were heavier, more constricting, and made to be more of an armor. Hers had also been, very obviously, recently modified to better fit her shape. There’s room left for her to grow to be a little taller - which is good, as she’s experiencing a growth spurt - and for her chest and arms to fill out more.

 

She swallows before stripping out of her old clothes, her fencing shirt and long overcoat traded in for something more formal and flexible. It takes her almost the whole ten minutes to get into them, and she has to adjust the waist cincher in order to make it tight enough without interfering with her fighting style. As she stares down at her small body in the heavy clothes, she can’t help but wonder what normal girls experience. Normal girls didn’t make it their business to kill fully-grown men on regular occurrences, nor did they wear armor or learn how to sail or wield a blade. What was being a normal girl like? Had she ever even been one to start with?

 

Achilles returns with Connor at that moment, and the look her brother gives her upon seeing her… It’s the first time in a long time she’s felt truly at home.

 

“Once upon a time we had ceremonies for such occasions, but I don’t think any of us are really the type for that. You’ve your tools and your training. Your targets and goals. And now you both have your titles. Welcome to the Brotherhood, Connor and Jacqueline.”


	7. Justice for Once

_1773._

_Three years, and Connor and I have grown so much. Us both now young people, fully grown and able. I tease him constantly, how he looks and feels like a brick wall when he hugs me, but he always returns with my ‘twig-like’ form. His strength and my speed only increased as the years past, both of us becoming stronger warriors each. Achilles says that I was born for swordplay, where Connor was meant for hunting, and in this, he is always right. I still marvel at how much we, and the world around us, has changed in only three years._

_We’ve learned the Homestead better than most people will ever know their own home. We’ve been in every cave, looked under every rock, swam in every stream, and climbed every tree. Achilles rolls his eyes at us when he hears us talking about something on the Homestead, saying we must be speaking in Connor’s native language, as it’s all gibberish to him. On occasion, we are, but usually we’re not. Connor knows where every good hunting spot is and I check the traps for him. We’re becoming an extremely good team._

_These are troubled times. The already uneasy alliance between the Crown and its subjects frays. And behind them both the Templars plot, pulling strings and moving pieces. History dictates they seek order through control. But how will they affect it here? Who supports them? And what conspiracies have they already spun? All these things must be determined, for only by knowing the enemy can we hope to stop them._

Jack is on the main floor, cooking dinner when the knock sounds on the door post. Surprised, as they weren’t expecting company that she knew of, she cleans her hands on a nearby towel and jogs over to the door. Opening it, she’s surprised to see a Native there.

“I am looking for Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

“Kanen'tó:kon?” Comes Connor’s voice from behind, and Jack deftly takes a step aside to let him past.

“Yes, my friend,” the stranger says as Connor steps outside.

“What brings you here? Is the village alright?”

“For now.”

“What do you mean? What has happened?”

“Men came, claiming we had to leave. They said that the land was being sold and that the Confederacy had consented. We sent an envoy, but they would not listen.”

“You must refuse!”

“We cannot oppose the sachem. But you are right as well. We cannot give up our home.” Frustration teems off both men in thick waves, and Jackie looks away to glare at the floor beneath her, angry that her so-called people would do something like this.

“You have a name? Do you know who is responsible?”

“He is called William Johnson.” _That explains that._

“Where is Johnson now?” Jack doesn’t have to look up, her brother’s tone speaks of his anger; the anger of a mother bear seeing her cub hurt. She knows that when he uses that tone that he is at his most dangerous.

“In Boston, making preparations for the sale.”

“ _Sale_? This is _theft_!” 

“Connor, take care, these men are powerful,” Achilles warns softly, hoping to calm the raging monster. Instead, he turns to the mentor, barely keeping control.

“What would you have me do? I made a promise to my people.” Connor holds out a hand towards his friend, and Jackie looks up to see a hatchet passed to her brother.

“If you insist upon this course of action, seek out Sam Adams in Boston. He’ll be able to help.” The enraged native swings the hatchet and buries it deep in the wood of the front post. “What have you done?!”

“When my people go to war,” Connor explains, “a hatchet is buried into a post to signify it’s start. When the threat is ended, the hatchet is removed.” Achilles sighs, exasperated.

“You could have used a tree!” Raton turns to Jacqueline now, raising an eyebrow at her, curious.

“You coming?” Jack inhales, choosing her next words carefully. Taking a step forward, she rests a hand on her brother’s shoulder.

“You are my brother, Ratonhnhaké:ton, above all else.” His friend looks mildly impressed she said his name correctly, before the shock of knowing now that Connor has a sister can register. “I will help you defend your people in every way that I can.” Normally, in the presence of others, Connor wouldn’t be bold. In fact, she’d be lucky to get a smile out of him. But for the first time in the company of others, he grabs her by the waist, pulls her close, and hugs her as tight as he can, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Her arms are quick to return the gesture, squeezing him as well, the love between the two siblings radiating freely.

When they leave for Boston, they’re stopped on their way by an injured woman named Myriam. Connor, being the stronger of the two, carries her back to the manor while Jacqueline goes to the hunting blind Myriam set up, watching the poachers that are encroaching on the land. When Connor arrives a few minutes later, they set about taking each one out, leaving only the last one alive to leave him with a message for his friends: don’t come back.

After Myriam is patched up and returned to her camp, Connor and Jack are called into Achilles room about a small matter he wishes to take care of. He knows that, with things being as they are, people will look back and wonder what kind of life people lived during their time. So he asks them to keep a record of how the people on the Homestead move and live, a small task that the two agree to.

When they are finally free to leave, the two head out to Boston, arriving after only two days. They crawl along the rooftops, avoiding guards when and where they’re able, even finding loose pages of some sort of Almanac floating around. When they finally manage to find Adams, he’s standing near some men at the South East Boston harbor, having a rather heated discussion with them. He stops mid-sentence when he sees their approach, quickly walking up to Connor.

“Ah, Connor, hello again! What brings you to Boston?” The younger man smiles a little.

“You.” A beat, then Adams turns to the other men, giving them an almost fake smile.

“Would you excuse us, fellows?”

The two men turn and start walking, Jackie keeping her head low and following a pace behind. Her eyes scan the crowd constantly, her ears pricked and listening for any conversation that might herald an oncoming attack, while trying to listen to the conversation between the two men before her as well.

“Thank you,” the older man murmurs once they’ve gotten a little away, “That conversation was about to turn unpleasant. Now, what can I do for you and your, uh,” he glances over his shoulder at Jack, who keeps her eyes on the crowd, “companion?”

“We were hoping you could help us locate William Johnson.”

“Of course. I'm headed to a meeting with some men who should be able to help. Why don't you come along? It's good to see the people finally taking a stand against injustice.”

“Says the man who owns a slave.”

“Who, Surry? I practice what I preach, my friend. She's not a slave, but a freed woman... At least on paper. Men's minds are not so easily turned. It is a tragedy that for all our progress, still we cling to such barbarism.” Jack’s a little impressed, and figures that Connor and this Sam Adams must have a rapport, as few people can handle her brother’s earnest bluntness so effortlessly.

“Then speak out against it.”

“We must focus first on defending our rights. When this is done, we'll have the luxury of addressing these other matters.”

“You speak as though your condition is equal to that of the slaves. It is not.”

“Tell that to my neighbor - who was compelled to quarter British troops. Or to my friend whose store was closed because he displeased th-”

“Hey!” Comes a voice from a nearby house, causing the three to stop and watch the events, “It's my home no matter what you thieves called 'taxmen' say! If the gumps in Parliament, who want my property, you tell them to sail across the pond and take it themselves!”

“It’s not open for discussion! Now open this door or these men will break it down!” The Frenchman above does not reply, simply grabbing a nearby chamberpot and dumping it on the tax collector’s head. “Bullocks, we’re coming in!” Sam Adams turns cooly towards the other two, addressing Connor.

“I trust the mounting evidence is proof enough, Connor.” Jackie wants to take his face off. With her knife. Her brother shows more restraint.

“Continue on. We will meet you at our destination.” He turns to her, murmuring, “Come,” before taking off into the fray. She flashes a smirk at Adams before retrieving her sword from its sheath.

Jack stalks up behind the nearest man, a hidden blade jammed into his back before he has time to react. Her hand goes over his mouth to silence his gasp, and as his eyes close, she allows the body to tumble to the ground. The guards have noticed Connor, who’d simply jammed his tomahawk into a man’s neck as hard as he could, but they still haven’t noticed Jackie. The Frenchman attacks one redcoat as she draws her blade, her sword entering a man’s lower back, puncturing lungs and quite possibly cracking a few ribs, before grotesquely protruding on the other side. Her sword is pulled out in just as smooth a motion, and she watches as her brother and their new friend take out the last two in silence. When the deed is done, the man splattered in blood and panting heavily turns to the siblings.

“Justice for once. I dare the Governor to send more.” Jackie grins while Connor looks concerned.

“Are you alright?” The man shrugs it off.

“I'm fine. It's not my first dance. For all their teeth and claws these little foxes, they fight like puppies. Thank you, my friend. I said I'd buy you an ale, but I'm expected somewhere else.” Without another word, the man turns and walks away. Jack turns to her brother, still grinning.

“That was hardly a fight at all, was it?” He can’t help but return her grin, shaking his head a little. “Come on, your friend is expecting us. How did you meet this man, anyway?”

“He was the man who taught me about bribing town criers the night of the massacre,” he explains as they climb the front of the Frenchman’s house, getting to the rooftop and darting towards their destination. “He was very kind to me that night, and I still owe him a favor for it. I will likely owe him another before this over.”

Jack doesn’t answer, instead grabbing Connor’s shoulder and pointing towards where a few of the same ‘taxmen’ are holding people at gunpoint. They share a quick glance before leaping down on the group from above. Now it’s five versus two, and Jackie walks away with a cut on her shoulder. Connor binds it for her, and they move on, taking to the streets this time. Again, they come on a group of these ‘taxmen’, and again, have to save the townspeople. Jacqueline can’t help but be confused by this. Why is this happening? And so frequently? Are people just not being paid enough to pay their taxes? Where is this money they’re supposed to have?

She shakes off the questions as they enter the small tavern, Connor giving her a quick glance to make sure she’s okay, and she watches mutely as Sam Adams greets her brother.

“Connor! I'd like you to meet some like-minded friends. The owner of this fine establishment, William Molineux and the manager and chef of his newest venture, Stephane Chapheau.”

“Ah, Connor, his friend and I just had a ball with some Redcoats enforcing some taxmen outside my home!”

“Who is your companion, Connor?” Adams asks curiously, smiling politely at the two. The two turn towards each other, having a silent conversation. She asks if they can be trusted, and he gives a slight nod. She raises a challenging eyebrow, as they might not be so accepting of a woman. He shakes his head, no, they will not be offended as others might about that. A small pause passes and she turns to look at the three men, speaking for the first time.

“Jacqueline, Connor’s sister. Most call me Jack.” Stephane’s eyes widen, a grin playing on his face.

“Is that a French name and accent I detect?” Jack can’t help but return the grin, finding his glee infectious.

“Oui. My mother and uncle who raised me were French. I even taught Connor the language when we were small.” The three older men chuckle as her brother gives her a soft glare, and the subject turns back to more serious matters.

“The collectors grow bolder and more forceful. Something we must address, Samuel.” William chimes in first, looking at the man he’s addressing.

“Then let us raise a banner. Something to let the people know that they are not alone. The docks are an angry place of late,” Stephane goes to speak, but Adams continues his thought, “protesters picketing the latest shipments of British tea. The eyes of the city are upon that stage…”

“A Bostonian without his tea is a dangerous beast!” The Frenchman says with an undertone of delight. Molineux lifts a small bag that’s tied shut.

“William Johnson is smuggling the tea off the ships - one of his men tried to sell me this. A sample of what I refused, but it's from those ships - no mistaking the stamp. He's charging a King's ransom, must be he's making a mint off those who buy it.”

“Where is he now?” Connor interjects, the intensity of his gaze growing. Jackie puts a soft hand on his shoulder.

“I've never met the man.” Molineux confesses, turning to the Native behind him. Samuel’s next words are chosen carefully.

“May I ask why you seek him, Connor?”

“He intends to purchase the land upon which my village stands without the consent of my people.” The two seated businessmen’s demeanor change. Though they want to help Connor, it’s obvious there’s a certain… uneasy feeling that pervades their characters.

“No doubt the revenue from his little smuggling endeavor is financing the acquisition.” Samuel starts, “A tax enforced on tea grants a boon to smugglers. I'll wager the same men who levy the taxes are selling the tea. A stage requires a spectacle and I may know the play.” The two stand and turn to address the Assassins, who are already starting towards the door in order to begin their task, “Connor, Jack, head back to the docks and see to the destruction of the tea. If you should need us return here.”

Connor can’t help holding the door open for his sister, and she steps through and onto the street. As the door is shut softly behind them, she runs - almost purposefully - into a man carrying a large crate in his hands. It’s knocked away from him, the contents landing all over the street.

“Pardon me,” Jackie says with an unapologetic air. Connor starts to give her a look because of her behavior, but he notices the contents of the box were the same tea samples Molineux had back inside the tavern.

“Awe, c’mon mate!” Jack rounds on the man, trapping him between she and her brother, but the man wises up and runs. Only once he’s gone does Connor meet her eye again, but now he’s confused.

“How did you know that he had tea?” She shrugs lightly.

“I recognized the symbol on the crate as the same from the tea sample Molineux had.”

He nods. The two manage to stop two more smugglers as they made their way to the docks, and Connor climbs a church building to see which direction they need to go. Once there, he takes out two large crates that are near each other, while Jackie notices that the one she has has a powder keg next to it. Shooting it from a nearby rooftop, she dives after into a nearby hay bale and waits for several minutes for the guards to give up the search. Connor’s leaning against the cart, lazy and bored, when she climbs out. She rolls her eyes at him before pulling him along. The two walk back to the tavern, the streets quieter now than they were a little while ago.

When they arrive, they’re surprised to see that all have left, safe Stephane, who’s looking around his kitchen as though something is missing. Jackie’s mildly surprised to notice that most of the things she’d expect to be in a proper kitchen are missing.

“Stephane, what is wrong?” Connor asks, “Where is Sam Adams?” The Frenchman, now angry again, turns with a look of both rage and surprise on his face towards them.

“Who cares! I’ve been robbed!” He grabs a large knife, possibly about the size of Jack’s head, and storms out, “Ils vont me le payer ces scélérats de merde...” The last words are muttered with such venom to make both Assassins step back, not wanting to getting in his way.

“Where are _you_ going?!” Connor shouts after him, Jackie quickly following. 

“To get back what is rightfully mine!” Is Stephane’s only reply. The older Assassin motions towards a nearby rooftop, and Jack nods, ascending quickly. Her gun and bow are made at the ready, to defend Stephane in case if he needs it. As it turns out, he does…

Several times.

As Chapeau’s rage grows, so does the crowd following behind. Connor does his best on the ground to keep things quiet, stilling the redcoat forces before they have a chance to engage their friend, while Jackie uses her arrows and poison darts from above to catch anyone Connor might have missed. Such as the big ones. It’s an effort, as the angry chef goes from one group of redcoats to the next, almost as though he no longer cares if he lives or dies, he’s simply out to make a point.

When Connor and Stephane finally do stop, it’s to overhear a man complaining about the tea that was destroyed earlier that day to a slave. Jackie glares at the man from her perch, biting her tongue to keep herself restrained. When she looks down, it’s to see that Connor is already searching for her gaze, and he gives her a look and a nod at their companion. ‘Stay there, keep him safe, do not interfere.’ She nods, then sits back and waits, hiding behind a large chimney. She watches from around the corner, her bow already drawn, her arrow nocked and ready. Her jaw drops as Stephane, with absolutely no abandon, walks right up to the complaining man and stabs him right in the shoulder with his butcher’s knife. Jackie’s shocked even further when, after a brief conversation with the man and a soft word from Connor, Stephane retrieves his knife and slices the man’s head clean off.

After all is said and done, Connor and Stephane join Jacqueline on her rooftop overlooking the market.

“The people seem to have an ear for you.” Jackie comments with a light chuckle.

“What of the things you lost?” Connor asks, and Stephane shrugs in reply.

“The people listened to me only because I spoke the truth loud enough, which is worth one thousand times the contents of my footlocker. The English, they can keep my things.” Jack can’t help a soft smile, finding it admirable for Stephane to look at things this way instead of being shallow and self-centered.

“You did well tonight.”

“I said I'd buy you two an ale when you first helped me. In place of drink I offer you my allegiance, for what it's worth.” Jackie glances at her brother, raising a quiet eyebrow to see what he’ll say. There’s a small pause before he can come up with the words.

“Your aid is welcome and I am-”Jackie clears her throat, “-we are grateful. Now, I need to find Sam Adams."


	8. For a Cup of Tea

When they part ways from Stephane, they stop at another church building, this time Jack ascending to see which direction to go. She spots William Molineux and points towards him for Connor, hoping that maybe he’ll be able to redirect them to Adams.

Molineux seems less than happy when they arrive. But, without a single word to either sibling, he simply nods his head and leads them away. Connor and Jack share a glance, the latter raising an eyebrow, but nothing is said as they follow. As they walk, Jacqueline takes a moment to drink in the city as it stands. Stone walkways. Brick and mortar buildings. Wooden signs and doorways. A clap of soft thunder overhead, and rain begins to poor, soaking everything. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows every which way and giving everything a gentle orange and gold hue. 

“What happens now?” Connor asks, breaking her of her thoughts.

“We wait for the signal,” Molineux replies, Stephane standing near and at the ready.

“What signal?” Jack returns, confused.

“This meeting can do nothing further to save the country!”

“That one.” The four step aside, and the doors to a church that Connor and Jack at stopped at earlier open, allowing Sam Adams to step out with a gentle smile on his face.

“Evening, gentlemen, shall we be off?” A flicker of rage protests in Jack’s belly, one that Connor shares and has no trouble voicing.

“No.”

“What’s the matter?” Sam asks, his voice laced with the lightly patronizing tone he used when Connor was angry earlier. It irritates Jackie even further. Twit.

“I and my sister have spent today drawn from one bit of madness to another with nothing to show for it,” is his heated reply, stepping closer to the older man, “Before we go any further, I would like to know _exactly_ what it is you intend.” There’s a slight pause. The thought crosses Jack’s mind that Connor would not be allowed to speak in such ways to the older, white men if it weren’t for the fact that he’s proven time and again that he is a killer and not to be trifled with.

“Of course.” Still, that patronizing tone. “First, we make our way to Nathaniel Bradlee’s house to fetch the rest of our little group. Then it’s on to Griffin’s Wharf, where we board the ships and dump the tea. Simple as that.” Jacqueline snorts from over Connor’s shoulder, earning her a quick smirk in her direction.

“ _Simple_ seems a bit _charitable_.”

“Cheer up, Connor, for tonight we are all victors! The Sons of Liberty get to send a message to England and you rob William Johnson of his financing. Your village will be saved.” A soft growl emanates from Jackie, even as Connor starts to relax. “I've an idea: why don't you lead the way? That should keep us out of any further trouble, am I right?” Her brother shoots her a look, gives a small nod, and starts to walk away. The three other men follow, with Jackie bringing up the rear. Stephane hangs back a little, striking up a soft conversation with her in their native language.

“ _Where did you say your mother was from?_ ” He questions, a smile on his face, one that she has to battle to return.

“ _Marseille. And you? Where is your family from?_ ”

“ _I was born in Montréal, Canada, but my family is from Paris originally. My father served in the French and Indian war as a cook for the French forces, and when he died, I took on his work as a chef. I moved here four months ago._ ” Her eyes widen a little and she gives him a more genuine smile.

“ _That is incredible. My mother served the same order as Connor and I, and my uncle is a captain in the Caribbean. My father lives in New York, if not here. I have only had the misfortune of meeting him once. He did not recognize me._ ” The last two sentences are said just above a whisper, her eyes watching Connor to ensure he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t react, and she decides that it’s safe. For now. Stephane’s eyes follow hers, prompting his next question.

“ _You introduced yourself as his sister, yet you look so dissimilar. Why is that, if you do not mind my prying?_ ”

“ _We share a father only. Our mothers, we believe, never even met._ ” Her gaze turns pleading now, “ _Please swear to me that you will not tell him what I said about our father. He doesn’t know that I’ve encountered him and I’m not ready yet to tell him._ ” Stephane holds up a hand to quiet her, his expression serious.

“ _You have my word as a Frenchman._ ”

“If you two back there are done,” Adams interrupts, “We’re here.” When Jack takes stock of their current whereabouts, she realizes that they’ve already arrived at the docks, the rain is pouring now, and night has fallen. “Damnit! More guards!” He says, pointing at the troop of redcoats surrounding the ships.

“We need to turn the crowd’s anger to our advantage,” Molineux chimes in, stating the obvious as usual.

“Say the word Connor, and I will make it so!” Stephane volunteers, his accent a little thicker than usual from having spoke in his native tongue recently.

The older Assassin simply raises a hand to still the voices, and he beckons Jackie forward. He points to a nearby rooftop, and she nods, quickly climbing up, her bow drawn once she reaches the top. He waits behind a barrel, hidden from sight in the rain. Connor gives a soft signal, and an arrow is loosed on an officer, killing him instantly. As the guards prepare to fire on her, she dives down so the roof gives her cover.

The slick noise of bodies being penetrated by steel is just barely audible from where she sits, another arrow nocked and loosed on a man who’s aiming to try and stab Connor with the end of his rifle when her brother isn’t looking. The bow is put away, and she jumps from her hiding place, landing directly on top of a redcoat and running him through in the throat with her hidden blade. She makes a mental note to buy a new sword first thing tomorrow, as the old has finally rusted and broken.

Jackie looks up just in time to see Connor toss his tomahawk to her, using his own sword to defend himself. She catches it easily, shifts it in her hand a bit, then engages two men at once. Blocking one’s attack, she counters the other and throws him into the harbor. The man’s bright green eyes stand out in the darkness, and she targets them, aiming a blow right in the center of his face. He barely manages to block her attack, and she uses her momentum to sweep his feet out from underneath him. As he falls, so does her blade, cracking ribs and causing blood to splatter everywhere. When she looks up, Connor has just finished with the rest of the guard and holds out his hand for his weapon back. As she moves past him, she returns the tomahawk and loots the bodies of the men she’d shot with her arrows, wanting to get the evidence of her presence here removed. Connor takes it one step further, picking up the dead, throwing them in the harbor, and stashing the guns where they’d be easily accessed later. As Jackie doesn’t own one of her own yet, she steals one and takes it with her as they move on to the next group.

Hiding behind a few barrels and boxes, Jack and Connor each use a poison dart on the men who look to be of higher standing. Waiting for the poison to take effect, she ensures the gun is ready, then whistles softly. One man begins to approach, and when he’s close enough, she stands and fires, shooting him in the face. Hiding again, they wait for the guards to come searching for the source of the noise, and when they hear them proclaiming shock over their dead comrade, the two leap from hiding and begin the attack. What Jackie doesn’t notice is four redcoats staying back and aiming directly at her. Connor, however, does, and with no one else still living nearby, he pushes her out of the way, cringing as two bullets graze his side. Her eyes widen before she turns on the four men, growling as she charges. One is pushed into the water, two are assaulted by her hidden blades in a flurry of movements, while the fourth panics and darts away. Jack charges again, her speed far surpassing her prey’s, and his spine is snapped almost too easily by her small hands.

With the guards gone, an angry crowd forms. Connor allows Jacqueline to check his wounds, and seeing that the bullets only grazed him, she breathes a sigh of relief. A whistle is sounded from the older Assassin, and the Sons of Liberty approach. Adams slips back into the crowd to keep the riot going, a man who introduces himself briefly as Paul Revere oversees one ship, while William Molineux takes the other. Guards approach as the tea is dumped, and Connor and Jackie trade back and forth, protecting each ship - and the men overseeing them - in turn. When it’s over, there are loud cheers of celebration.

“We’ve done it!” Samuel shouts with a wide grin, clapping Connor on the shoulder.

“Connor!” Stephane calls as he and Revere approach from the ship, taking care as they each hold a crate while stepping off the ramp, “We saved the last one for you and Jack.” The men all glance around for the white and red clad young woman. “... Where is Jack?”

_A few minutes earlier…_

Jackie glances around for more guards, blood soaking into her white clothes, dying them the same color as her sash. Even her usually deep blue shirt has a massive splattering on it. As she gazes across the harbor, her sharp eyes notice three, if not more aged, familiar figures. John Pitcairn, William Johnson, and Charles Lee.

Jack’s eyes widen and she checks the inside of robes, finding her mother’s journal buried between her layered tunics. She retrieves it, putting it inside of a (mostly) watersafe bag. She carries it around for when she and Connor go hunting out in the woods and need something that won’t leak out blood everywhere, or for when she needs something to not get wet, like gunpowder.

Arranging everything one last time to make sure nothing important will be damaged, she jumps off the mast of the ship, diving into the harbor water that’s now thickened with tea. Everything around her is a strange shade of brown, and she struggles to swim through it. Once she’s gotten a little ways out of the harbor, the water clears up, and Jack’s able to make easier strokes towards where she still sees William Johnson and the others standing, staring in shock at the events unfolding before them. Once she’s close enough to be within hearing range, she slows, wading near them carefully, only to grab onto the dock behind them and wait for the sound of retreating footsteps.

As Jackie listens to them leave, she releases and falls back into the water, swimming to a dark area where she can climb out without being seen. It’s difficult to keep up with the men who walk at a very brisk pace and keep completely out of sight the whole time. She has to slide under carts that aren’t in use, dive into hay bales, casually walk between crowds of dispersing people who are still singing the Sons of Liberty’s praises, and stick primarily to shadows in order to keep from being detected.

Jack’s a little surprised to find herself, a few minutes later, hanging underneath a familiar window on the side of the Green Dragon Tavern. This time, however, instead of shouting in triumph, the men are either enraged at or mourning their defeat. Jacqueline listens as Charles Lee growls about her brother, pacing back and forth on the wood floor, even as Haytham Kenway reassures the upset Johnson that he’s not to worry, they’ll find money for the Native’s land soon enough.

“Why do you want their land?” Asks a cautious Jacqueline from where she now stands in the same corner as she did the last time, but now with more confidence. All six men’s heads shoot up in surprise at the voice, and upon recognizing the seal around her waist, let their eyes narrow.

“What are _you_ doing here, Assassin? Or do you want to die?” Asks the still-angry Lee. Jackie only quietly raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t remember me, then?” His expression twists into one of confusion, and Jack simply lets her hood fall to her shoulders. “I suppose I ought to be proud of myself, for not leaving that large of an impression.” Haytham stands upon recognizing her face, putting up a hand for the other men to be still. They obey without question.

“Why are you here, Jacqueline? Or do you prefer Jack?” She shrugs.

“I don’t have a preference. Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.” Haytham pauses before nodding a little, glancing back at Johnson. To her surprise, the older man is grinning gently at her.

“You said you were Rosanna’s daughter, yes?” She nods after a second of consideration. “I can see it. The way you hold yourself, the way you ask questions. I think she’d be proud of you if she could see you now.” Instead of being grateful at his compliment, Jackie’s eyes narrow at him.

“If you are attempting to distract or flatter me, neither will work. I’m here only for the answers I seek.” The journal is retrieved from her bag, “From the way my mother wrote about you, I am sure there are answers you desire as well.” Haytham’s and Charles’ eyes widen considerably, and she can’t help but wonder why the latter one would care as much. Johnson pauses for a moment, digesting her words, before he nods to her.

“Very well. We want to buy the Native’s lands to protect them from settlers.” An eyebrow rises on the girl’s face.

“Okay, now that we’ve got the propaganda out of the way, I’d like the truth.”

“That _is_ the truth, child,” Haytham scolds, a little angry with her for not believing them. She only scoffs.

“How many times have the Natives been told that the government is ‘confiscating’, otherwise known as ‘taking’. their land in order to ‘protect’ them? I really can’t say I believe that _any_ of you are awake at night, tossing and turning, worrying about them.” Johnson goes to say more, but she cuts him off. “But if that is the only answer I will be getting, then I will allow you to ask me a question.” Haytham’s eyebrows rise as realization dawns on him. Church starts to say something, but their leader interjects first.

“No, no, Benjamin, if this is the game she wishes to play, then we will entertain. There are questions that I’m sure we all have, pertaining to her, her order, and her mother.”

“ _No,_ ” is Jacqueline’s first reply, “No questions about the Assassins… Except ‘why’. You may ask ‘why’ questions.” The Templar Grandmaster raises his hands in surrender before sitting down where he’d been a moment ago.

“Alright, no questions about the Assassins, except as you said, ‘why’ questions. Will it count as our question if I ask how old you are?” Her jaw tightens, but she finally shakes her head.

“No, that one I will allow. I am fifteen. My Mentor said that I am the youngest person since the Crusades to be inducted into the Brotherhood.” A look of pride flashes across Haytham’s face.

“That’s quite an achievement.” She grins, more to herself than to them.

“Not according to my Mentor, who says that with my lineage, I still have quite a ways to truly impress.” A soft chuckle escapes his lips, before he turns to the other men.

“So, what shall our question be?” Johnson gives him a look, asking permission, which Kenway consents to.

“Why did you dump all of the tea into the harbor?” Her eyebrows rise.

"I thought that would be obvious? So you wouldn’t have the money to buy the Iroquois land.” He, again, starts to say more, but she holds up a hand. “My turn.” Johnson sighs, but consents, sinking back into his chair. “Who is Reginald Birch?” The men look confused again, and she holds up the journal, “Mother mentioned him only once, and it was in the first entry.”

“Ahh,” Haytham starts, nodding in understanding, “Reginald Birch was my mentor, and is the Templar Grandmaster in England.” Realization dawns on her face, making some of the men smile at the silly expression. “Would you… read that first entry to us?” She bites the inside of her lip before nodding slowly.

“Do not make any sudden moves.” They nod their consent, sitting back and listening to the reading.

Haytham’s paragraph makes the man blush lightly, while Charles’ and Hickey’s make all the men laugh. Hearing that her mother said she loved him, even after such a short period of time, brings tears to Johnson’s eyes, which he immediately bats away. Church’s makes everyone uncomfortable, while Pitcairn puts his face in his hands in utter shame at what he’d done to Rosanna after what she’d written about him. When Jacqueline finishes, the room is still, the men digesting all of what they’ve just heard.

“You-”she swallows, almost afraid to break the tension, “you can ask me another question, if you want.”

“I have a question that leads to another, Miss.” Church starts, leaning forward a little to be more easily seen. Jackie nods her consent. “You were the boy that ran out of the tavern in Martha’s Vineyard, weren’t you? The one with Bobby Faulkner and the young Native who approached us, asking about Charles?” She swallows before nodding again. “Why did you run like that?”

“That… is a long story.”

“We have answered all of your questions,” Charles accuses, making her shrink back a little before consenting. When she finishes the tale, Haytham can’t help but stare into his lap.

“Your mother sent you away so that I wouldn’t find you.” Jackie nods. “Does she say in there why?” This time, she shrugs.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet. I suppose I can ask two questions now?” Haytham realizes what he’d done before chuckling and nodding. “I read the journal entry where she realizes you knew that she was a spy. How did you figure it out?”

“We caught her in a lie,” Charles supplies, calmer now. “She told me she was leaving for a week to visit her brother while he was in New York, while she told Haytham that she was going to Philadelphia to see an old friend.” Her expression falters, and she looks at the ground between she and them. “We did not take too well to this.”

“I see.” She clears her throat. “I… want to ask to do something, but I’m afraid one of you will kill me for doing it.” Now they’re curious.

“What might that be, dear?” Haytham purrs, trying to get on her good side. Her momentary glare is intense before it clears up.

“My Mother wrote in her journal that she would’ve liked to have given both Johnson and Pitcairn a hug before leaving, as they were the two she didn’t get to see before you realized the truth. I don’t know. It sounds foolish, but-”before she can finish her sentence, Pitcairn has stood up in his chair and held out his arms, tears just barely being kept at bay.

“Come here, ya daft woman. I’ll make sure they don’ hurt ya.” She pauses long enough to take the hidden blades off her wrists to show that she’s not going to try and kill him, either, before dashing across the room and half-leaping into his arms, hugging him tightly. He squeezes her just as close, the tears now rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he whispers just loud enough for Jacqueline to hear, before his hug tightens just that much more. “And I’m sorry, Jack,” he says a little louder now, “I wish I coulda seen ya grow, coulda been there for your mum. She was as dear to me as anythin’, and now you’re all that’s left of her.” It’s all Jackie can do to not cry, sniffing softly.

“It’s okay, John,” she whispers in reply before stepping back from him, clearing her throat. He does as well, straightening his clothes.

“Thank you for that. I mean it.” He says, looking at her with such sincerity, she can’t bring herself to doubt him. “If you read more of tha’ lil’ book of yours, you’ll understand why I canno’ explain how grateful I am to you.” Before Jackie can reply, two arms have wrapped around her midsection and bodily lifted her off the ground, making Pitcairn laugh. Jacqueline starts to scream, but a hand clamps over her mouth.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” Johnson’s soothing voice says behind her, “I’m getting that hug I was promised.” Once she realizes he means no harm, she shifts around in his grasp in order to properly return the hug, breathing in deeply of his scent. He chuckles as he sets her down, tears in his eyes as well. “You really are just like your mother. She used to take a whiff of me like I was a rose every chance she got.

“She wrote that your musk was one of her favorite smells. She tried to describe it once, but she scratched it out, saying it couldn’t be described, simply experienced. She was right.” Johnson has to turn away now, the glisten of water on his cheeks reflecting in the firelight. Quiet as a mouse, Jack turns away, heading back to her safe little corner. Once her weapons are strapped to her arms again, she opens the window she’d entered through earlier, stopping when she’s half way out. “Johnson,” he turns to her, “I… suspect we will be meeting again in these upcoming weeks. When we do, it will not be on these terms. I want you to know that it has nothing to do with my mother or myself. I am aiding my brother, nothing more.” Johnson wipes the tears from his eyes and straightens.

“Then when I am forced to kill you, know that you will still carry my gratitude for this evening, and I will ensure you are properly buried next to your mother.”

Jacqueline inclines her head to the man before allowing herself to fall out the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the end bit seems a little OOC...


	9. Chapter 9

_December 20th, 1757_

_How has it been six months already since I came here? These men… they are truly different from what I expected. I almost can’t remember what I’d imagined them to be, as things have just changed so much in so little time. I’m sent on fairly regular tasks for them, stealing, spying, the occasional interrogation, among other things, and I do my best to be accurate so they will trust me even more._

_Charles has taken quite a liking to me. He… is very sweet. He will occasionally bring me breakfast in the morning. We will sit and talk for hours, laughing, teasing, or being serious and philosophical. He is certainly educated, and finds it interesting that I am as well. The curious part is when I am having similar discussions with Haytham or William; he always refuses to join in. He seems to prefer speaking to me alone. I am determined to find out why._

_Haytham is still a mystery to me. He may trust me to be a good spy and Templar, but he has yet to trust me completely as he does the others. I think he experienced some kind of loss or betrayal before my arrival. He’s interested and likes to play little games with me. Damn his smile when he thinks he’s won._

_-Pitcairn- John is the highlight of my day. He is my joy, and has taken to calling me ‘sister’. I have opened up to him about the state of affairs between James and I, and he has decreed that he shall be my new brother to replace the old, hence the nickname. I cannot help but to love him; he is my family now. If anything happened to me, I know who will be there to ensure my safety._

_Thomas kissed me today._

_Church I prefer to keep my distance from. There’s something strange about his presence that I do not take well to, and I cannot bring myself to be near him for longer than moments at a time. Charles and Haytham both of taken note of my unease around Church, and take care to ensure that I do not accompany him, or he me, anywhere for any length of time without one of them there to ensure that nothing happens._

_William tries to understand why I don’t trust Church as much as I do, but we cannot seem to discern a substantial reason for it. I have noticed, however, that over the course of the last few months, I have already made enough of an impression. William and Charles do not speak very kindly about Church when he is not present anymore, nor do they defend him when I say something ill of his character as they used to. While William does enjoy my presence, he doesn’t in the same fashion that Charles or Haytham do. He speaks to me and treats me as though I was his own, and has taken me under his wing. John teaches me, when he has time, how to use a sword, but as the supposed daughter of a now deceased Templar, I play innocent when it comes to their histories and some of their more complex beliefs. As such, and finding me to be an intelligent woman, William finds it to be to my benefit to instruct me in ‘the ways of the Order’. If it were true that I was this woman I pretend to be with them, I would be eternally grateful to him for this kindness. However, having been raised by Assassins, I know more than I let on._


	10. Chapter 10

_1773 – Later that night._

“ _Where_ have you _been_?” Jackie’s face is ridden with guilt at the accusatory tone her brother shoots at her the second she’s closed the door. The two are sharing a room at the tavern owned by Molineux, which means that Connor has been waiting half the night for her to come home.

“I’m sorry, Con-“

“ _That_ isn’t what I asked.”

“I went looking for Sam when I saw the fight was over, since he hadn’t reappeared yet, to make sure he was okay. The crowd was too dense, too many people, I-I…” She sighs heavily, looking at the ground, her voice becoming a whisper. “I’m sorry.” The floorboards creak only seconds before she’s wrapped in the warmth of Raton’s hug.

“I was so worried,” he whispers in return, burying his face in her raven hair as he’s now head and shoulders taller than she. It’s very apparent who inherited Haytham’s height – and who did not. She returns the hug, giving him a tight squeeze.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to worry you.” He shushes her, petting her hair lightly.

“All is well. Why did it take you so long to come back?”

“I tripped and hit my head. I didn’t wake up until about an hour ago, thankfully there was no blood but my head hurt.” Connor leans back and checks her head carefully, making sure to not hurt anything. She hisses when he touches her for effect, and he presses a light kiss onto her forehead.

“There’s no visible damage, so I think you’ll be okay. Did you see a doctor?”

“Yes. He said to sleep off the headache and I’ll be fine in the morning.” Raton nods again before giving her one last squeeze and releasing her. “I thought I was fine…” He taps her chin, shushing her.

“It’s been three years, Jacqueline. The fact you haven’t had an attack speaks of your progress. Today was a minor setback; you’ll be stronger for it.” She swallows and nods, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Now get some sleep; doctor’s orders.” Jackie laughs, nodding. “I was going to head out to go home tomorrow, but with your injury, we’ll explore Boston a little more in the morning and leave the day after.” Normally, she’d argue with changing the plans like that, always hating to be a burden, but she’s so tired after the very, _very_ long day, she simply nods and collapses on the bed from exhaustion.

_The next morning…_

When Jackie wakes, she’s fairly certain she’s never going to move again. _Everything_ hurts. Fingers, hands, elbows, shoulders, back, stomach, hips, knees, feet, toes, everything. Even her eyes burn from being so tired. With a heavy sigh, she manages to move her aching body enough to roll over, groaning from the pain. A soft chuckle sounds from the other side of the room.

“I know how you feel.” She grins a little before pulling herself up, rubbing her eyes.

“Have I slept late?” Connor gives her a light shrug.

“Later than usual, but I only just woke up as well.” He nods towards the window, “Let’s get some breakfast.”

It takes Jackie a few minutes to be able to really roll out of bed, but once she’s on her feet, she starts to feel better. She stretches her back, bending over and touching her toes, before nodding to Connor and following him out. As they traverse the rooftops – careful to avoid unwanted attention after last night’s scandal – she reminds him she needs a new sword, and he promises they’ll get one before they leave to return home. She doesn’t realize that, as they talk, they’re really just going in a huge circle. They come back around to the tavern and stop in to say hello to Stephane, getting breakfast from him. He dishes out one of the largest breakfasts’ the two have ever seen, their eyes widening at the massive amounts of eggs, codfish cakes, boiled potatoes, and fresh bread. To everyone else’s surprise, the two devour the entire meal, having never had a proper meal in quite possibly years. When they leave to explore (Connor having insisted on paying for the food), Jackie confesses she’s never had that much food at once before; that her mother didn’t have much money for food and being raised on a ship meant you had to share everything with the rest of the crew.

Fed, watered, and muscles stretched, the two spend the day making contacts, meeting a man named Duncan Little and recruiting him as they’d done with Stephane after helping liberate the area from mercenaries. He bought them each a pint after, the two only having a sip of their drinks. Once through, they chased around more Almanac pages, each written by a man named Benjamin Franklin. The two didn’t know who he was, or why his work was floating around Boston (literally), but the things they learned from the pages made them worth collecting. Jackie mentions to Connor that they should keep an ear out for someone with this man’s name, as he’d probably like his work returned to him. Her brother only nods in reply. Two chests have their locks picked by the Assassins, who use the opportunity to both improve their skill and find some extra money. Rain picks up as they open the second chest, and they decide to start heading back to the tavern, stopping at a few high churches in Central Boston in order to get a good look around that area. If they had time, they’d stop to see if they could make any contacts in that area as well, but Connor’s whining about the rain and Jackie’s aches are starting to return. They get another restful night of sleep in their small, shared room that evening, each feeling mildly accomplished, even if they hadn’t done something extraordinary that day.

When morning comes the second day, it finds the siblings already at the harbor, having sold what they’d hunted on the Frontier on their way to Boston just before daybreak in order to buy Jackie a new sword and leave at dawn. The ship is sailing north towards Massachusetts, and they ask that the crew let the two dive overboard since their home is that way and they can swim the rest of the way home. The Captain is mildly uncomfortable with such an arrangement, until he finds the purse of money he’s being given for their passage a little heavier than a moment ago. He’s suddenly very okay with the idea and lets the two aboard right away. It’s much faster to get to the Homestead by sea than by land; the two swimming towards the Aquilia by late afternoon, and walking to the back of the manor to meet with their mentor by early evening. The Old Man is sitting out behind the stables, near the cliff face where he can see the whole harbor, his staff just a few feet away from him. He probably watched them approach. The two are silent as they near, even as their footsteps crinkle lightly against the soft grass. It’s not until one is standing on either side of their mentor that Connor speaks.

“It is done.”

“Johnson is dead?” Achilles asks in his soft, raspy voice without looking up at his apprentices.

“No,” Connor amends, “He retreated when we destroyed the tea.” The two come around to stand before their mentor.

“Only to hatch some new scheme, I’m sure,” Achilles muses, almost angrily. Jack swallows. “You should have killed him.”

“There was no need,” Jackie supplies, trying to defend her brother’s decision. Achilles gives her a look, one he usually reserves for Connor. It tells her that he does not agree, but he knows not to argue; for now.

“Time will tell if you speak the truth.”

_Six months later…_

“Ratonhnhaké:ton! Ratonhnhaké:ton!” Comes an unfamiliar voice from the entryway as the door is flung open. It takes Jackie, who sits in her room reading, a moment to realize that it’s Connor’s childhood friend. She hears her brother’s voice follow, and she marks her place before heading down the stairs.

“Kanen'tó:kon? Why are you here? Has something happened?”

“William Johnson-“The color drains from Jack’s face and she stays at the second step, listening in silence, “has returned with all the money required to buy our land. He meets with the elders as we speak. I have begged them to resist. But I fear he shall have his way unless you intervene.”

“How is this possible?” Jack can hear the confusion and almost desperation in her brother’s voice, and her stomach twists with guilt, “We destroyed the tea!”

“The Templars are nothing if not resourceful; you should have heeded my warning!” The guilt doubles with Achilles accusation against Connor.  
“Please, you have to stop him.” A hand rubs over her face. Her guilt over her actions the evening of the Tea Party now floods her veins like poison, licking at her organs and devouring her mind.

“Of course.” A sharp whistle and Jackie heads down the stairs, carefully masking how she feels inside. “Jack, I need your help,” is all Connor says, having expected her to be eavesdropping, before turning back to his friend. “Can you tell me where they are meeting?”

_A little while later…_

The siblings have killed two deer and three elk by the time they reach where Kanen'tó:kon has told them to meet with him. When they approach, they each greet him in his native language, surprising him a little, but he doesn’t comment on it. He points to the cliff on the other side from where they stand, looking over a wide river.

“ _Johnson Hall is just across the river. The water is well guarded, Ratonhnhaké:ton._ ” Her brother glances at his friend.

“ _Wait for me here_ ,” he murmurs before beckoning Jack to follow, the two using the trees to make their way to the edge of the water.

The reeds provide excellent cover until they’re close enough to the first two guards to shoot a barrel of gunpowder at their feet, causing all the others to implode and the two men to die. Soon, the other guards along the water’s edge die as well, quiet tricks and the use of their own long range weapons bringing about their end. The path up towards Johnson Hall is steep and winding, the two Assassins having to be under almost constant cover in order to escape detection and alerting Johnson to their presence. Jackie manages to kill and skin a fox as they go, earning a quick smile from her brother. When they reach the plateau at the top of the hill, they stop to listen.

“Peace, peace!” William Johnson’s voice pleads, and Jack has to turn away for just a moment to regain herself, “Have I not always been an advocate? Have I not always sought to protect you from harm?”

“If you wish to protect us, then give us arms. Muskets and horses that we might defend ourselves!”

“War is not the answer!” Her eyes narrow for a second and she turns back to listen more attentively. She thought the Templars would want the obviously brewing war?

“We remember Stanwix! We remember you moved the borders! Even today men dig up the land – showing no regard for those who live upon it. Your words are honeyed, but _false_. We are not here to negotiate, nor to sell. We are here to tell you and yours to leave these lands.” A brief pause.

“So be it. I offered you an olive branch, and you knocked it from my hand. Perhaps you’ll respond better to the sword.”

“Are you threatening us?”

“… Yes.”

Before Connor can charge in headlong to fight the men, Jack grabs his arm. He whips around, glaring harshly at her, and she points above them. Looking up, he sees a ladder leading to a hunting blind, and she gently taps the tip of his bow. A look of understanding flashes on his face and he gives her forehead a gentle kiss before he quickly ascends the ladder. Jack slips into the bushes near the edge of the clearing where the men stand, her hidden blades ready to kill any who dare approach the Native Elders. Before anything serious can happen, an arrow has buried itself in the center of Johnson’s back, and the world around them seems to slow to a crawl. In shock, everyone stands back, looking around wildly to see where the arrow came from. The two Assassins come into view, Connor dropping out of the blind and Jack standing from her bushes. They approach Johnson to ensure he’s dead.

“Ah, no, what have y’done?” He asks, his accent even crisper than usual, blood seeping from the wound in his center.

“Ensured an end to your schemes,” is Connor’s almost boasting answer, his tone instantly turning accusatory, “You sought to claim these lands for the Templars…”

“Aye. That we might _protect_ them! Do y’think that good King George lies awake at night, hoping that no harm comes to his native subjects? Or that the people of the city care one whit about them? Oh, sure, the colonists are happy to trade when they need food or shelter or a little extra padding for their armies. But when the walls of the city constrict – when there’s crops that need soil – when there’s…” He coughs and sputters and Jack’s insides twist like they did back at the manor not an hour ago. “When there’s no enemy to fight… We’ll see how kind the people are then.” Connor gets down to his knees in order to better hear what he’s saying, his tone almost cautious.

“The colonists have no quarrel with the Iroquois.”

“Not yet. But they will. ‘Tis the way of the world; in time, they’ll turn. I… I could have _stopped_ it. I could have saved you all…”

“You speak of salvation, but you were killing them.”

“Aye. Because they would not listen! And so, it seems,” Jack glances down, the blood having soaked into the earth now, “neither will you…” He heaves his last breath, and William Johnson is dead.

_“May the Faceless One grant you the peace you claimed to seek…”_


	11. Chapter 11

_ William Johnson is dead – and with him the Templar plot to steal the land of Connor’s people. I cannot bring myself to grieve a man I never knew, yet my heart wrenches in pain every day. I knew him for a day, no, an hour. Yet every journal entry of my mother’s that I read, I find myself loathing that I did not seek another alternative; that I didn’t at least try to speak with Connor about killing him. He and I have not spoken of the event since the day it happened. _

_ In ending the threat, he has revealed another. On Johnson’s body was a letter addressed to John Pitcairn, containing orders to root out and destroy Patriot weapons and supplies. Should he succeed in this, the colonists will be unable to maintain their resistance and the Templars will surely take control. So long as Pitcairn lives, the danger remains. I need to find him. He needs to be stopped. _

_ April, 1775 _

“I thought it might bring clarity. Or instill a sense of accomplishment. But all I feel is regret.” Connor’s voice fills the din of silence after a few moments of the thickness. Jackie stands over his right shoulder, staring at the wall of Templars, her mind making quiet comparisons between their youthful selves in the portraits and the men she met in person. This is the first time Connor has brought up the death of Johnson since it occurred, and she stays quiet, not wishing to say the wrong thing.

“Hold fast to that. Such sacrifices must never come lightly.” Achilles’ words are soft but wise.

“I had to do it. Not only for my people, but for all the others Johnson would have harmed.” Connor is trying to justify his actions, not just to Achilles and Jackie but to himself as well. Four years of living with Connor has taught her this.

“It's a start. But to truly be free of Templar influence, all of them must be dealt with in turn; even your father.”

“I know,” the two murmur in unison.

“You speak the words, but do you believe them?” A soft knock sounds at the door, “Seems we've company.” Achilles returns upstairs, leaving the two for a moment. Connor turns to say something to Jack, his mouth opening before he hesitates. He shakes his head and follows Achilles up the stairs, Jack following to join the two meeting with a courier at the front door.

“What is it?”

“A request for aid from Paul Revere,” There’s almost a hint of admiration in his voice, “Seems the Redcoats are up to something in Boston.” He looks up at his two protégé’s, grinning. “Guess you two made an impression on the Sons of Liberty.”

“They mistake us for part of their own,” Connor answers before Jack can speak for herself, and she makes a sound of annoyance so soft, she knows only her brother heard her. He shoots her a fast glance over his shoulder before turning back to the courier, “Please tell Mister Revere he has my sympathies, but I cannot help at present.”

“You might wish to reconsider: John Pitcairn is mentioned by name.” Achilles supplies as Connor’s about to pull Jack away to speak in private. He stops mid-sentence, the attention of both the younger Assassin’s fully gained.

“Where am I to go?” The two ask, again in unison.

“Mister Revere's house in Boston. If you'd like I can...” The courier is pushed aside for the sheer size that is the now 19-year-old Ratonhnhaké:ton, making room for both he and 17-year-old Jack to move past.

As the two make their way to Boston, they hear news of trouble a little further out then is their path, but Jack’s instincts tell her it’s worse than they know. She insists they see what’s going on, and after a full hour of her pushing and prodding at her brother, he finally raises his white flag, allowing for them to make the detour. Pleased with herself, the two head out only to meet Warren and Prudence; farmers who, like a few others in the area, had been attacked by redcoats demanding all their crops. When they refused, Warren was beaten, the ground salted, their crops burned, and their animals slaughtered. The men are in the middle of beating Prudence when Connor and Jacqueline approach, the two quickly coming to her defense and ending the lives of the ‘lobsterbacks’. Jack tends Warren’s wound some before the two move on, and Connor offers for them to come live in the community forming at the Homestead. When they leave, Jackie whispers to her brother that it was incredibly kind of him to offer that to them, and he merely shrugs in reply.

When they arrive in Boston, Jackie’s almost disappointed to see it hasn’t changed very much in the months they’ve been gone. The only difference she notices is that it’s nighttime and it’s raining. Lightening illumines the siblings’ pathway, allowing for easier travel through the Southside of Boston, and as they start noticing that a few people are being forcibly conscripted by the British army, they notice that couriers dash away from them with news of their presence in the same direction. Following one out further than they usually would, they discover a Templar fort. As much as the siblings would like to go to Revere’s house and get out of the rain, they feel that this ought to be dealt with first.

The two get close enough to get a sense of the numbers, before backing off to plan. They  _ might _ be able to take out the fort with the two of them, plus Duncan and Stephane, but Jack confesses she would feel more comfortable with one more. The two spend the night finding men being conscripted and freeing them of their captors, only to find a young man named Clipper Wilkinson finding them to ask for their help. At dawn, Connor is pulled away by the sounds of a brawl, so the two split up. Jackie meets with Clipper around the corner from a large gathering, some men wearing normal clothes, some in uniform, while one stands above, giving a speech.

“Welcome to the Regulars. The most feared, respected and revered fighting force on God's green earth. Some of you are here by choice, others not. Regardless of the circumstances of your joining us, you are all brothers now. And the only way you have a chance of surviving is if you trust your brothers. One weak link can kill a whole squad on the field. I want you to think about that long and hard.”

“That's one of them that's responsible for this - rounding up the young ones and shipping them off. We need to put an end to it,” Clipper tells her, pointing up to the man who’s just finished his speech.

“What is your plan?” Jackie asks softly, turning to look at the young man with a curious gaze.

“Kill him, then the rest and set all them boys free?” Her lips thin, barely holding the laugh in.

“It's a good plan but it lacks detail,” she pauses, considering for a second before seeing the long barreled gun in his hand, “How is your aim with that rifle?”

“Can pop a muskrat's head from a quarter mile nine times outta ten - and the ten's a misfire.”

“That should do. Cover me from up there,” she instructs, pointing a nearby rooftop.

The two separate, Clipper climbing the house to the roof. When he signals that he’s ready, Jack slips from beside the building and into a nearby bush. A little smirk plays on her face for a few seconds as she realizes that bushes seem to be her thing. An arrow is retrieved from her quiver, attempting to be silent. Nocking it, she begins to raise her bow, waiting for the moment. The man above turns his back and she immediately stands, drawing the bow to its full length and releasing with hardly a second thought. The arrow hits its mark, hitting the man’s left shoulder in his back, going through him to his front. She smirks, and as she hears a battle cry to her immediate left, a gunshot goes off. Jack whips around and realizes that Clipper just saved her life. She blinks in surprise and looks up to see that the men are resisting and beating back the redcoats. Jack grins before heading up to the rooftop to join Clipper.

“You did well,” she murmurs as she approaches, still soft spoken. He blushes at the compliment and she grins. He’s cute. Biting her lower lip, she knows Connor would shoot her for missing this opportunity. “We Assassins strive for peace through freedom. The Templars want only one thing – control.”

“Well, I’m for freedom, I know that much. If your Order needs a good rifle, sign me up.” Jack’s grin only widens and she claps him on the shoulder before turning to go find her brother.

She finds Connor at their earlier-designated meeting spot; the Liberty Tree. He tells her briefly of his encounter with Norris, commenting that she’d like him since he’s from Montréal and speaks French. She laughs, shaking her head, before telling him of her success with Clipper. Before he can even ask, Jack tells him that, yes, she did recruit him. He can’t help a small grin before the two head back to the Templar fort.

Its early midday when the two arrive, and they assassinate every guard before they’re finally detected. Thankful to not be expecting anyone coming up from behind, they begin to storm the fort. When the Templar numbers swell, Connor whistles high and loud, causing Stephane, Clipper and Duncan to appear. Between their three recruits and Jack’s leadership, they manage to keep the guards busy while Connor charges the Captain. No one walks away from the ruthless fight uninjured; Duncan having a knee that’s bleeding bad, Connor with a massive bruise on his face from where the Captain punched him, Stephane’s face is slashed, along with a few cuts on his non-axe-swinging arm, Clipper’s right shoulder has a bullet wound in it, and Jack’s got a deep cut on her forearm that will scar. It’s getting to be the middle of the afternoon when the two finally work their way towards Revere’s house.

“Connor, Jack! What a relief,” says Paul’s attempted-soothing voice as he sets down the teapot he’d just been pouring from and approaches, “You came! Allow me to…” He stops after attempting to touch Connor’s shoulder and being shrugged off, given a  _ very _ harsh glare, but the man only smiles in return, “to introduce you to William Dawes and Robert Newman.”

“Your letter said John Pitcairn was here.” Jack cuts in, stepping forward to stand a little bit more in the warmth of the fire.

“Aye, he’s readying his assault on Lexington, where Adams and Hancock have taken shelter. After that, he will march on Concord – hoping to destroy our weapons and supplies. You  _ must _ help us!” Jack glances away but Connor gives him a sincere expression.

“Only tell us where to find him and we will put a stop to this.”

“He has dozens if not  _ hundreds _ of men,” the way he speaks reminds her of Faulkner, such  _ emphasis _ , “of soldiers at his command. You cannot hope to match him by yourselves. But fear not – you will not have to!” Now he reminds her of Faulkner when he’s trying to sell Connor on an idea, “We have an entire army of our own – merely awaiting the order to take up arms.”

“Then you must call on them,” is her harsh reply, quickly losing patience with this man. Her mind flickers a comparison to Johnson, with the way the two try to pitch and sell their ideas, their ideals. This man is not anywhere near Johnson’s elegance, his grace.

“Indeed, you and I,” he makes the mistake of touching Connor’s shoulder again and immediately removes it before it’s removed for him, “will cross the Charles River and rouse the boys. Connor, you take William and go the overland route and do the same; meet us in Concord. Robert, I need you up in Christ Church. Light the signal. Two lanterns – the enemy comes by sea! No time for dawdling, my friend!” He tries to touch Jack’s shoulder but Connor grabs his wrist, and he quickly pulls his arm away, “We have lives to save, come on!”

When Revere turns his back, Jack shoots her brother a glance, silently asking him to trade with her. He only smirks in reply, shaking his head before pushing past Revere to catch up with Dawes. A feeling of bile rises in the back of her throat. This man is too…  _ touchy _ . Nothing like Johnson. Johnson didn’t  _ need _ to ‘comfortingly’ touch your shoulder in order to sell his idea to you, no, his soft voice, velvet accent, his incredible presence; those were all the tools he needed.

_ April 18 _ _ th _ _ , 1775. _

Revere hops off the boat they’ve taken to the shoreline, quick to start heading towards land, while Jack stays behind long enough to pull the boat onto the sand so it won’t be pulled back into the water. Night has fallen, giving everything an undertone of danger. She can’t help feeling like they’re being watched.

“They only left a single horse,” Revere says with sorrow, not noticing Jack’s struggle, “We’ll have to ride together.” The last word is said with a slight tone that Jack doesn’t want to name, “Ah, you take the reins; I’ll navigate.” She’s halfway through pulling the boat up onto the shore when his voice becomes imploring, if not impatient, “Quickly, Jack, get on the horse!” She rolls her eyes, biting her tongue before simply throwing the boat down and turning to join him. She’s pretty sure if the redcoats don’t kill Revere by the end of this, she will.

She climbs into the saddle and Paul slips an arm around her midsection, clearing his throat lightly. Jack remembers distantly that he is a married man, but that doesn’t mean he has to make things so…  _ awkward _ . She wishes Connor was here, even as she adjusts a little and takes the reins. Rolling her eyes once more at her situation, she breathes a curse at her brother in his language; she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t because of their bond.

Approaching a fork in the road, she can hear the sound of drums and slows the horse to a gentle trot. It takes Revere a moment longer than Jack to see the seven soldiers going past.

“Redcoats! What are they doing here?”

“They must be scouts,” she murmurs in reply, turning to go down a little path that’ll move them past the soldiers without being detected.

Once they’re out of earshot, the horse is put into a gallop again, and they take small paths behind houses and into the forest, trying to stay out of sight as best they can. She’s just thankful Revere was intelligent enough to wear dark clothing, even if she doesn’t quite have that option; her robes being white-on-red.

The two stop at the edge of a small village, Revere suggesting they approach on foot. Jack doesn’t voice her agreement; she just gets off the horse, the older man following close behind. She sees a troop of redcoats checking the well for someone hiding there, and she slips into a bush at the edge of town, watching. For the first time in years, she releases her breath, closes her eyes, and stills herself, focusing her mind and her instincts into one. When she opens her eyes, the world is in a new texture, a colors mingling with people, their energies flowing through them, their minds and bodies becoming one fabric that Jack can detect. The civilians and Revere are sheathed in azure, while the redcoats are bathed in crimson. She moves to the nearest building and Revere follows, the man petting a guard dog before he barks at the two. Jack hides at the edge of the house, watching the ruby entities as they look around one last time before moving on. She waits until they’re a little out of sight before moving from her hiding place, a sigh of relief coming from the man 24 years her senior. She doesn’t let her mind take over completely yet, trusting in the second sight to lead her to the right door.

“This is it!” Revere says as the two approach, and she knocks on the doorframe. A man appears, looking distrusting and surly. “Let everyone know that the Redcoats are marching towards Lexington and Concord,” Paul says much too loudly, and the man turns towards whoever else is inside his home.

“The British are coming!” The man shouts as he shuts the door.

“Back to the saddle, my friend! We have more people to warn.” Jack rolls her eyes when he’s not looking.  _ Could he be any louder? If we get caught, I’m blaming this all on him. _

“Spread the word, the Regulars are coming out!” Revere tells the man at the next stop.

“At once!” He replies, and the two turn and leave once more.

“The Regulars are coming!” Paul proclaims, and suddenly their contact is shoved aside.

“Here. WE’RE HERE! GET THEM!”

Jack’s eyes widen. She hadn’t had her sixth sense in tune when she’d approached this house, and she internally slaps herself for it. Turning around, she grabs Revere and shields his body with her own as gunshot fires, but it misses. Jack takes Paul’s hand and leads him to the horse, the man struggling to keep up with her fast pace. She swiftly climbs onto the horse’s back, pulling him up with her, and they charge into the wilderness of the frontier, trusting on her knowledge of this area to escape the notice of the redcoats.

Only once they’re out of danger does she finally allow the horse to slow, and she turns to ask for directions. He indicates that they’re on the right course and she nods, following the path, crossing a stream, and trotting up to another small village. Jack knows the routine well by now, the two slipping off the horse and approaching a nice looking home. This time, Paul knocks on the door. A pause, and no one answers. Looking flustered, he knocks again.

“Where the devil is he…?”

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure I’m sure!” Just as he says this, a woman goes running past, one arm just barely covering her cleavage while the other covers the fact that she’s only in her underwear. A stiff eyebrow raises on the Assassin’s face, one that’s immediately replaced with a soft grin as a man appears in his shirt and underwear as well. “Prescott?” Paul inquires, scandalized.

“Evening, gents!” The man known as Prescott salutes, mistaking Jack for a man, just as she intends.

“Listen, the regulars are out. You need to rally your men…” Paul gives the man a once over, still a little flustered, “And put on some  _ trousers _ .” The man grins and nods.

“At once!” The man brushes past them and salutes once more before going into his home through the front door. Jack just grins at Paul who gives her a disapproving look.

“Be happy you’re Connor’s sister,” he mumbles, though the smile on his face tells her he’s teasing, and she chuckles.

“Be happy you’re Connor’s friend,” she murmurs in reply before the two return to their horse.

The two ride on, taking another narrow path that leads to a wider one. It’s quiet now, the two becoming more settled in each other’s presence now that they have broken the tension with their teasing. Before she has a chance to ask for directions, however, Paul gives her a little grin.

“Welcome to Lexington, Jack.” Her expression turns into mild disbelief.

“I thought it would be larger. More like Boston or New York.” He laughs softly before giving her a small shrug.

“Let’s find Hancock and Adams, shall we?” Jack nods, slipping into her sixth sense again in order to get a better sight on where they need to go.  “Hmm, no sign of Dawes… I hope he’s alright…” Her gut twists as she realizes that no sign of Dawes means no sigh of Connor, either. She swallows, agreeing with his words. When they enter the large home after Revere identifies it as the one they need, her worries are banished at the sight of her brother standing just over Sam Adam’s left shoulder.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” she murmurs, and her brother turns to her. He nods at her, and she in return, saving an embrace for when they have privacy.

“Jack,” he murmurs in reply as she moves to stand next to him.

“Paul, Jack, it’s good to see you,” Adams says with what’s supposed to be a heartwarming smile.

“We need to leave,” Jack stresses, “The Redcoats are coming.”

“Aye, so William and Connor have told us. Let them conduct their little search, they will find nothing.” Connor and Jack share a glance.

“You don’t understand, Pitcairn intends to kill you,” her brother supplies. Adams looks to Paul, silently enraging the younger woman.  _ He should trust Connor’s word by now, why doesn’t he?! _

“I’m afraid it’s true,” Revere confirms.

“I suppose we have no choice, then, but to go,” Adams says as he stands, the other two seated men rising as well. “And what of you four?” Paul glances at Dawes and moves to stand next to him.

“Dawes and I will continue on to Concord. Connor, Jack, its best you two stay here and help our man John Parker hold the town,” the Assassins nod their agreement, “It’ll give us time to spread the word.”

As the siblings depart, Jack only just now noticing that it’s a little after dawn, they walk close enough for their shoulders to be brushing, needing just the little bit of contact to know that the other is okay. Each had troubles on the way here, and they’re simply grateful to know that their companion is safe.

“Stand your ground, men!” Shouts an older man with a bad hunch in his back, a grey beard on his face, and a blue coat a size too big on his shoulders, “Don’t fire unless fired upon! But if they mean to have war, let it begin here!” The man coughs and wheezes as he speaks; Jack unable to help but feeling a little bad for him. He’s not going to live long past this battle, presuming he survives it at all.

“Pitcairn!” Connor spits venomously, and turning, Jack sees the older man astride his horse opposite the battlefield from them. An inner conflict of supporting her brother and not wanting to acknowledge the connection she has with the man battles with the urge to race across the battlefield and pull Pitcairn aside to beg him to end this before blood is shed. Both sides intensify when she hears his voice.

“Disperse, ye damn rebels! Lay down y’er arms and disperse!” Shots are fired and the line before Connor and Jack breaks. Both urges are immediately put down in order to deal with the current situation.

“What the deuce are you doing?! Hold your positions! Cravens! Traitors!” The man screams at his retreating forces, even as he’s dragged back behind a tree by Connor, with Jack covering them with her pistol.

“They are not coming back.”

“You will have to make do with those who remain!” Not even Jackie is completely sure which one of them said which sentence.

“Don't you lecture me on how - Return fire! Return fire!” John Parker starts to rebut the two of them before realizing there’s an opening. Once the opening as closed, he ducks back down to speak to the Assassins. A letter is retrieved from his boot and handed to the closest one, “You need to get to Concord and warn the others. Show this to whoever leads there. Should be a man by the name of James Barrett. Go on now.”

The two run as hard and fast as they can, taking a horse until redcoats catch up to them and shoot the horse down. As they run, they hear word that civilians are being captured by the enemy, and Jack hears Connor’s low growl beneath his breath. Stopping only long enough to give her the letter from John Parker, he shoves her towards the path before turning to save the civilian. His look is one she recognizes, one only meant to convey a single thought.  _ Run. _

Jacqueline’s not aware that her legs are throbbing. Her mind, of its own accord, switches into something that is more comfortable when she’s running at these speeds; her sixth sense taking complete control. The world around her becomes nothing but a simple blur, losing shape and normalcy. Civilians and Patriot militia become streaks of blue that streak past her, animals a flash of white, and places to hide for cover a blanket that she doesn’t even have time to register before she’s past. Earth, mud, and trees all become one, just the environment that she has to work her way through. The only thing that remains clear is the path before her, one that she follows because she cannot see anything else. Finally, two figures in the distance that close in fast are in yellow. Her targets. When she slows, the sixth sense disperses into the real world, and she realizes that she can only now hear the things going on around her. In her extreme focus, Jack’s other senses had stopped working in order to devout herself to the pursuit of the leader at Concord.

“Blood's been spilled in Lexington, and there's more to come. The Regulars are on the march.” Jack says as she approaches the two men, one she recognizes as William Dawes and the other she doesn’t know. However, she can tell by the way he carries himself and the way people act around him that he’s James Barrett. The look he gives her as he turns is one of utter contempt.

“You don't say?” His sarcasm is  _ far _ from appreciated, “Why do you think I've men up here? Go home, 'fore you get yourself killed. I've enough to worry about without some green boy looking to play at hero.”

“I can vouch for him,” William immediately supplies, and Jack shows Barrett the letter.

“John Parker as well.” Barrett takes the parchment from her, turning away to read, and Jack shuffles closer to Dawes.

“Where’s Revere?” She murmurs, almost angry at herself for actually being worried over her annoying friend.

“Captured,” he whispers in return, his expression and clipped tone telling her he knew that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“ _ What? _ ”

“Fear not. That man’s no stranger to sticky situations. He'll be fine, I'm sure of it.” Jack gives him a displeased expression, but she nods. That will have to do until she can figure out where he’s being held. “Where’s Connor?”

“Coming.” Barrett clears his throat.

“Ahem; you ladies finished gossiping? Parker seems to believe you're not completely useless. So I suppose there's a thing or two you might be able to help with...” Jack has the strong urge to rip the tongue this man doesn’t deserve clean out of his mouth, but she restrains herself as he points towards a nearby hill where a bridge lays on the other side, “When the fighting starts, we'll need to hold those positions there. They're critical to the defense of Concord. Good boys, not used to soldiering. They need someone with experience to direct 'em. That something you can do?” Jack nods. “You best be telling the truth.”

“You have my word. Another of my order is on his way. Should I fall, he will rise to take my place. The men will never know the difference.” He gives her a look of contempt before turning away.

“Then I suppose all that’s left to do is wait.”

By the time the redcoats have made their appearance on the other side of the bridge, Connor has arrived. Jack complains to him of Barrett in Kanien’kéha, making him displeased but also chuckle. He informs her that not only is her skill in the language improving, but is getting more… colorful.

“Sir!” Comes a call from a soldier nearby, and Barrett turns to look. His eyes widening, he sees the army of lobsterbacks coming around the bend and he starts shouting orders as Connor and Jack mount steeds.

“MAN THE BARRICADES!” Connor’s just about to spur his horse forward and charge the line when Barrett stops him, “No! Ensure my men hold those positions! If the Red Devils break through, we're finished!”

“What would you have me do?”

“Listen carefully,” he glances over at Jack, “both of you. The Redcoats will form firing lines. Order the men to shoot just before the line is ready. Too soon and they'll miss their targets. Too late and the enemy will open fire first.”

“Understood,” the two murmur in unison.

“And if any of those bastards make it through, engage them. You must keep my men alive.”

When Barrett departs, the Assassins share a glance. It doesn’t have to be discussed. Jack’s eyes are sharper, able to see greater distances more accurately. Connor’s eyes are very good as well, but years of training together – and competing against each other – have taught them who’s able to pinpoint better from a greater distance. Jack will maintain the men while Connor will defend, attacking any who break through their lines. The elder dismounts, getting a newly purchased boarding axe out from his belt and swings it loosely, careful not to hurt anyone but also accustoming himself to its weight. It will have to be an extension of him if he’s going to pull this off.

Jack has to almost glide between the troops, spurring her horse into its top speeds in order to keep up with the troops. The second she arrives, a quick glance and she orders the men to fire, only to turn around and dash off to another group and do the same thing. It quite possibly doesn’t last a half hour, in fact it might not have even lasted ten minutes, but by the end, she’s exhausted. Connor’s practically beaming at her with pride when she finally dismounts as the news is spread that the redcoats are falling back. The two cross the bridge once the opposing army has disappeared around the bend once more, meeting Barrett on the other side. Connor whispers to her as they approach in his tongue to let him speak, and she simply nods.

“Takes a true monster to do something like this...” Is all Barrett can say at first as he hears the Assassins approach before turning to them, “At least they’re gone.”

“I should have struck when I had the chance...” Jack knows he refers to when she was distracting the army. “Do you know where Pitcairn could have gone?”

“Back into the withered bosom of the British no doubt - so that he might regroup and plan his next atrocity.”

“I need to find him. Every day I wait, more will suffer...”

“Chin up, friend. Many who should've died today now live because of your friend,” he gestures to Jack, who’s trying very hard to not lean on Connor for support. She can barely remember the last time she was this tired.

“And what of them?” Connor asks, indicating to the red and bluecoats strewn about the bridge.

“We do the best we can with what we’ve got.”

“It is not enough.

“Hm… It never is.” Barrett pats Connor’s shoulder comforting, pats Jack’s shoulder once in passing as both a congratulations for doing so well and a thank you for doing it in the first place, before disappearing over the bridge.


	12. Chapter 12

_ Later… _

Connor’s decided that he and Jacqueline will stay with Sam Adams in Philadelphia until more news of John Pitcairn can come through. They make a few trips with him or others who want the Assassins presence as a security measurement to Boston. While there, they work with their recruits, sharpening their skills, knowledge, and senses.

In the evening, Jacqueline finds herself in the company of Clipper, who pulls her aside and the two go on long walks around the town. Sometimes she can feel eyes watching them from above, following them, and sometimes she knows they’re truly alone. Clipper never once tries anything, being as much of a gentleman as he can be. When he walks her back to where she and Connor are staying, she wishes him a goodnight and kisses him on the cheek before retreating inside. Connor stays up the first few times, waiting for her to return, until one night he doesn’t say anything, he simply gives her a grunt of approval. From then on, when she returns from her walks with Clipper, he’s already asleep by the time she gets back.

One night, in mid-May, Jacqueline gives Clipper her farewell kiss on the cheek and retreats into the tavern. This time, instead of going upstairs, she turns and goes out the back door to where there’s a passage leading down to the underground tunnels. Climbing inside, she knows that if Connor is watching her now, he won’t dare follow her down here unless he intends on confronting her. Every breath is echoed off the walls and she’d hear him coming. Jack goes around the first bend and waits, listening. When no noise is heard, she moves on to her destination, holding a lantern high to see her way.

Jacqueline climbs out a few short minutes later, now on the opposite side of Boston from where she and Connor are staying. Biting her lip, she looks up at the building she’s now visited twice. In a few deft movements, she’s once again hovering on the edge of a windowsill, listening to what’s being said. She only stays long enough to recognize the voices of those inside: Pitcairn, Hickey, Lee and Kenway. Her gut wrenches when the thought crosses her mind that Johnson will not be attending these meetings again. She then realizes that Church is not in attendance either, and finding herself much too curious, she climbs into the window (only now noticing that the window had been left sitting wide open) and sees a chair in her usual corner. She sits, biting her lip and watching the ongoings.

“Damn!”

“Wot’s t’matter, Charles?”

“This is my favorite coat. It’s ruined.” Lee holds up his left arm to show a massive tear going down the sleeve. “I cannot wear this again,” he mourns, “to leave it is atrocious and to repair it would make it so it’s never the same.”

“So buy a new one?” Jack voices before she can stop herself. Lee shoots her a look, as though completely unsurprised by her presence.

“This was not cheap.”

“Then let me see it,” she says, returning his look.

“What?” He asks, confused.

“I can repair it for you. It won’t be perfect, but it’ll be damn near perfect.”

“Just where did you learn how to sew?” Haytham queries after a brief silence, staring at her in mild wonder.

“Mum taught me, and then my Uncle insisted I keep up the practice so I could repair both his and his men’s clothes, and do you think that with as often as Connor and I are attacked by both man and beast alike, one of us didn’t have to learn? The uniforms we wear are not replaceable. So,  _ Charles _ , if you want to wear that coat again, give it here.” A needle and thread are extracted from a pocket she’d sewn into her robes a week prior, and she prepares the needle. Lee looks on in confusion.

“Why would you want to help me?”

“I don’t. I want to kill you. However, that doesn’t mean that my mother wouldn’t slap me silly if I didn’t fix your coat. Besides, the likelihood that your coat having a tear in it or not is going to have any effect on when my brother finally gets to end your miserable existence? Not very good. So give it here.” Charles is about to retort when Haytham gives him a sharp look. With a soft sigh, the man removes the coat and hands it over to the young Assassin, both watching their enemy for any sign of betrayal. Once the jacket is safe in Jack’s hands, she turns to examine the tear, making only one soft noise before pulling out her hidden blade. “I’m going to need to make the tear just a little bigger in order to make the patch look even so it won’t be as noticeable.” As she works, it gets eerily quiet for several moments.

“Y’did good on the battlefield,” Pitcairn voices softly from his corner.

“As did you,” Jack murmurs in reply.

“I recognized you, even from tha’ distance. Kept waitin’ for y’er brother to come chargin’ across the river to kill me.” Jack shakes her head.

“We were under strict orders to not charge forward. Besides, your men would have shot him down and that would have been nothing short of a waste.”

“Still, you did well, especially considering y’er lack of experience.”

“Add on top of that I’d been up all night the night prior on horseback with Paul Revere shouting in my ear about redcoats, then running about three miles as fast as I could to tell Barrett about your approach. I’m surprised I didn’t collapse half way through. I was exhausted.” She shoots Pitcairn a playful expression, one which he returns, before going back to her careful work. “I was told that if I was a member of the Patriot army I would’ve been promoted.”

“I certainly would have promoted you,” Pitcairn offers, his voice getting soft. “You showed signs that day of being a leader and an excellent strategist. Rosie would’ve been proud.” Her eyes shut at the mention of her mother and she sighs quietly.

“Please don’t mention her,” she whispers, trying not to convey her pain. When her eyes open again, she focuses intently on the coat sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” John says after a long moment, “I didn’t mean t’-“

“Just, please, don’t.” There’s a long, pregnant silence, broken only by the fire until Hickey opens his mouth.

“So why are you here?” Jack goes to answer, before pausing. She doesn’t know. She, honest to God, doesn’t know.

“I just… felt like I should be.”

“You killed Johnson.”

“I did no such thing!” Jacqueline suddenly shouts, her expression full of anger at Hickey, “I was there, yes, and I helped, yes, but I did not lay one finger on William Johnson.” She takes a deep breath to still herself, the men reeling in shock at her firecracker rage. “If I could have prevented his death, I would have. In a heartbeat. But there was no other choice. Connor climbed onto a hunting blind and shot him when his back was turned with his bow. We went around Johnson Hall and dived off the cliff and into the river. The men never even noticed we were there. Johnson had it right; war is not the answer.” An unreadable expression crosses Haytham’s face, but Jack decides to ignore it, looking back at her work.

“How old are you now?” Her father asks randomly.

“Seventeen.”

“How old is Clipper?” Her movements freeze for just a blink before returning to their prior action.

“Who?”

“That boy who walks you home every evening, the one you kissed on the cheek. One of your recruits, isn’t he? That’s a dangerous road; playing with subordinates.”

“I’m not playing with him.”

“Then why didn’t you recognize him when I inquired?”

“Do you think I really want you to know about him?”

“Yes, considering how much time you spend alone together.”

“Th-That’s beside the point.”

“Is it?”

“Why do you _ care _ ? I’m a grown woman and I don’t answer to you. I can spend my time with whomever I please. For your information, he’s nineteen.”

“Hmph. A child. Have it your way.” She rolls her eyes, biting her tongue to keep it from lashing against him.  _ Just finish the damn coat and leave. _ “I… brought something for you.” Jack looks up again, now confused.

“What?” Supplied from inside Haytham’s coat pocket is a long necklace with simple looking diamond heart on the end.

“This was your mother’s. She left it here by mistake the day she left; the day we found out the truth.” He gestures for her to rise and she shakes her head. "Don't trust me?" He asks with a smirk.

 

"No, and if I move, I'll ruin the coat instead of repair it." Haytham raises his hands in surrender before simply laying the necklace on her lap.

 

Quiet resumes its ownership of the room. The air is swollen and pregnant with tension. Anticipation makes their breath short and their collars tight. The men standing resume their seats at the table, watching in turn the woman who tries to keep her focus on the cloth in order to finish the repair.

“So…” Jack starts after ten minutes of solid silence, “How did you get the tear anyway?” Lee clears his throat.

“I tripped.” Hickey snickers in his corner. “The sleeve caught on a rock and tore.” The snickers get louder before a glare is sent their way, and they die down quick.

“Ah,” she swallows, “Once a few years ago, Connor was teaching me how to climb trees. I could climb the mast of a ship all day long, but a tree? That’s something else. We were jumping between the trees when he heard wolves snarling. When we got to where they were, we noticed there were two standing on either side of a very startled dear. He told me to get my bow, and I leveled one at one wolf while he jumped down to attack the other with his knife. I got the arrow off and killed my wolf, and he killed his, but the force of the snap of the drawstring made me fall out of the tree and land on a rock. I bruised the entire right side of my body. To this day, Connor  _ still _ turns around sometimes to make sure I’m not about to fall when I’m in a tree and have my bow.” She chuckles at herself, shaking her head, causing the men to laugh softly as well. As the thick quiet resumes, Jack clears her throat and raises the sleeve, giving a triumphant noise in her throat. “All finished monsieur. It’s not quite good-as-new, but no one will ever notice a difference.” Rising, she holds the coat up for Lee to put on. He quickly takes it back from her, sliding it over his own shoulders and then looking at where the cut was on the sleeve. It’s been virtually erased. Blinking in shock, he turns to her, almost embarrassed.

“I feel as though I owe you.” Jack immediately waves him off.

“Please don’t. That takes us to a really awkward path that I have no interest in going down. Just answer me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Why did you kill my mother?” The silence that invades the room is no longer awkward and stuffy, but deadly. There’s a poisonous undertone that reads very clearly that the other men didn’t know Charles had attacked Rosanna. “… And why didn’t you tell anyone that you did?” Charles clears his throat before looking Jack directly in the eye.

“I did not kill Rosanna. Yes, I went to her home with poison, ready to infect everything she would ever think to touch, but… I couldn’t.” He reaches under his shirt and lifts a concealed necklace where a vial of dark purple liquid sits contained. “I have kept it. So I would never forget. As much as I wanted to kill Rosanna, I left that evening with this vial still full.”

_ June 17 _ _ th _ _ , 1775 _

George Washington stands behind a podium, holding a speech, with Connor, Jack, Sam Adams and Charles Lee listening. Connor has not yet noticed the presence of their enemy, but Jack is all too aware of his eyes on the back of her neck.

"For the support of the glorious cause I beg they will accept my most cordial thanks for this distinguished testimony of their approbation. But, lest some unlucky event should happen, unfavorable to my reputation, I beg it may be remembered, by every Gentleman in the room, that I, this day, declare with utmost sincerity, I do not think myself equal to the Command I am honored with. As to ..."

"Truly, there is no man better suited to the task," Sam whispers to the siblings, leaning over to be heard.

"Really? I can think of several." Is Charles' snarky retort, one Jack knew he would not be able to resist.

"Charles Lee," Connor snarls, standing and turning to face the older man.

"Do I know you?" Charles asks without a single fuck given.

"I would not expect you to remember." Connor still snarls in reply before he's grabbed by his arms and pulled away.

"Come Connor," Sam grunts, "there's someone I want you to meet." Once the trio is a little further away, Sam turns to Connor as Jack holds Lee's gaze. "Sorry to pull you away like that, but the last thing we need is the two of you coming to blows." There's a pause, Connor not happy but conceding to Sam, "Connor, Jack," his words are a little more forceful on her name, afraid of her starting a fight with the way she watches Lee intently, "allow me to introduce you to our newly appointed Commander-in-Chief, George Washington." The two turn to the white-haired man, each bearing a thin smile.

"Ah! So you're the ones who saved Sam and John at Lexington." Connor shrugs.

"It was the Patriots who did that, we merely lent support." George and Sam share a glance and a small smile.

"As humble as he is brave. We could use more men like you. I'm sorry, but if you'll excuse me - I should attend to Charles over there. He looks none too happy about being passed over for command. It was good to meet you, Connor and Jack." Once he's left, Connor takes Sam by the arm and pulls him aside.

"Tell me you have news of Pitcairn."

Jack stops listening, instead turning to a quiet corner and hiding in it. Waiting for a moment when no one's watching, she turns and climbs up the nearby curtain until she's high enough to grab one of the beams supporting the roof. Pulling herself up, she hovers for a few seconds, waiting to see if anyone's noticed yet. When nothing suspicious happens, she slides along the banister, silent as she moves to stand above George and Charles. She hears the soft, higher tones of Washington's voice giving condolences, mixing with the mildly agitated, deeper pitch of Lee's thick conversation. There is no threat from either man, in fact, Lee congratulates Washington and wishes him well in his new office. Jacqueline is honestly surprised by this, and she locks it away to dwell on later.

When Lee turns and leaves, Jack moves to climb down, landing with the grace of a wildcat next to the Commander-in-Chief. The older man gives a little startled cry, his eyes wide. Once he recognizes her face, He chuckles, shaking his head.

"Oh, Jack, you gave me a fright."

"You must be wary of Charles Lee," she murmurs, urgent and her voice fixed to help the lie that she's a man. "I fear his intentions are not what we think. I do not trust him."  Washington looks even more confused. "Promise me you will not allow for him to be alone with you. It would bring me some peace."

"... Who  _ are  _ you?"

"Jack Kenway. A concerned friend."  She's not sure what it is, but something allows for Washington to be agreeable.

"I do not know what Charles has done to earn your scorn, but I will keep your word with me."

"Thank you," she whispers before moving to return to her brother's side.

"...Best you head to Boston, Connor."

 

The siblings travel to Boston, their warmer clothing left behind with Adams for safe keeping. The warmer months have hit, and their heavier clothes have become unbearable in direct Sun. Sam will hold the robes for them in Philadelphia until Boston is liberated, at which point he'll have the clothes sent to Stephane to be sent back to the Homestead.

Riding on horseback, the two murmur to each other in Kanien'kehá:ka before being stopped by a Continental soldier with a rifle pointed right at them.

"We're looking for Israel Putnam." Connor decrees.

"On who's orders?"

"Samuel Adams." Jack informs him, casting a quick glance at her brother. It's honest but she's no idea if Adams will be recognized here.

"... Follow me." The Assassins breathe a silent sigh of relief.

"This is not Bunker Hill." Connor comments as they ride up a hill.

"Aye. It's Breed's. There's been some... disagreement as to where we should encamp."

"Any news from Boston?" Jack asks, feigning innocence.

"The Tories aren't moving. And anytime we try to press them, we lose a dozen men. I think Putnam and the others plan to assemble artillery on these hills. A good shelling might make the Redcoats rethink their strategy."

"And what of John Pitcairn?" The venom in her brother's voice makes Jack's stomach churn.

"That bastard is the cagiest of the bunch. He's appeared, time to time, to taunt us or send regards by way of cannon fire. It's all right, though. He'll have what's coming to him soon enough." They reach the encampment and the soldier points forward, "Putnam's just up ahead. You can't miss him." His horse makes a sharp turn and he disappears back down the hill. The siblings dismount and approach where two men stand and argue on foot.

"I don't care much for your excuses, gentlemen. We should be building on Bunker Hill. Breed's is closer to the city, but it is also closer to their artillery!"

"Our orders came from men so divorced from the situation, we are compelled by reason to employ our own faculties to make a proper determination."

"Were that I could understand even HALF that nonsense you just uttered-"

"What's not to understand?! I'm trying to ensure our victory!"

"What would you know about victory? I killed a she-wolf in her den, armed with only a knife. I escaped the Caughnawaga Indians who sought to burn me alive. And, I was the sole survivor of a shipwreck at the Battle of Havana. So you'll excuse me if I choose not to follow your advice." A soldier is hit by a cannonball. "I rest my case. I'm going back to Bunker Hill. Good-day, gentlemen."

"General Putnam?" Connor finally interrupts, approaching carefully with Jack on his heels.

"What?" Putnam answers, agitated.

"We're looking for John Pitcairn. I was told you'd be able to help us find him."

"He's tucked away inside the city with no reason to leave. So long as that ship continues its assault, we'll never flush him out." Jack grins and Connor glances her way, knowing what she's thinking.

"But if the ship was silenced…"

"Then poor John might be forced to get off his arse and come forward!" Connor picks up a nearby discarded patriot flag, handing it to Jack, who looks to Putnam.

"I shall fly this flag to signal my success." The man smirks back at her.

"And I shall speak fondly of you at your funeral."

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, this is my first work... I have the next... two chapters, I think, written. I'll be updating this when I can.  
> -K


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